The love affair which has a title part in the Rape of the Lock was perhaps once so obvious as to need no comment; at least Dr. Johnson thought “the subject of the poem … an event below the common incidents of common life.” By the twentieth century the love story seemed so obscure as to defy analysis; at least Geoffrey Tillotson thought that the rejection of the hero by the heroine was unaccountable. A decade ago Cleanth Brooks refurbished the action as a neo-classic campaign in the unending “war of the sexes” over rites of possession. Some such pattern of pre-marital courtship is doubtless a norm assumed for the comedy of the poem, as it is—William K. Wimsatt reminds us—for Molière's Misanthrope, Congreve's Way of the World, and Meredith's Egoist. While suggestively approaching the plan of the action, however, Brooks has rather too closely assimilated Pope's particular campaign to the general war. If the comedy of the poem posits a norm, it also sets forth a divergence. One is free to speculate that in a hypothetical sequel to Pope's poem the Baron and Belinda might have gone on (like other gallivanting young people, indeed like Arabella Fermor and Lord Petre) to get married—he to another woman, she to another man. But as it stands the poem is not directly concerned with what Brooks calls “the elaborate and courtly conventions under which Belinda fulfills her natural function of finding a mate” (p. 84). Both Belinda and the Baron are at the age of exuberance where the armor of courtship fits rather loosely, like the helmet Swift stuck on Dryden. Feigning “death,” sophisticating love, and shunning marriage, they wage a mock war in a mock-heroic poem. Their maneuvers, I wish to show, make the plot of the poem a contest of wiles between commanding personalities—an uninhibited philanderer and an invincible flirt.