{436}[578] "Hells," gaming-houses. What their number may now be in this life, I know not. Before I was of age I knew them pretty accurately, both "gold" and "silver." I was once nearly called out by an acquaintance, because when he asked me where I thought that his soul would be found hereafter, I answered, "In Silver Hell."

[ko] At length the boys drew up before a door, From whence poured forth a tribe of well-clad waiters; (While on the pavement many a hungry w—re With which the moralest of cities caters For gentlemen whose passions may boil o'er, Stood as the unpacking gathered more spectators,) And Juan found himself in an extensive Apartment;—fashionable but expensive.—[MS.]

{437}[kp] 'Twas one of the delightfullest hotels.—[MS.]

[579] [Perhaps Grillion's Hotel (afterwards Grillion's Club) in Albemarle Street. In 1822 diplomats patronized more than one hotel in and near St. James's Street, but among the "Departures from Grillion's Hotel," recorded in the Morning Chronicle of September, 17, 1822, appositely enough, is that of H.E. Don Juan Garcia, del Rio.]

[kq] —— of his loves and wars; And as romantic heads are pretty painters, And ladies like a little spice of Mars.—[MS. erased.]

{438}[kr] The false attempt at Truth——.—[MS.]

{439}[580] [Compare—

"Lo! Erin, thy Lord! Kiss his foot with thy blessing"——

The Irish Avatar, stanza 14, Poetical Works, 1901, iv. 558.]

[ks] Kiss hands—or feet—or what Man by and by Will kiss, not in sad metaphor—but earnest, Unless on Tyrants' sterns—we turn the sternest.—[MS.]

{440}[581] "Anent" was a Scotch phrase meaning "concerning"—"with regard to: "it has been made English by the Scotch novels; and, as the Frenchman said, "If it be not, ought to be English." [See, for instance, The Abbot, chap. xvii. 132.]

[kt] But "Damme's" simple—dashing—free and daring The purest blasphemy——.—[MS.]

[ku] About such general matters—but particular A poem's progress should be perpendicular.—[MS.]

{441}[582] [Macbeth, act iii. sc. 4, line 63.]

[kv] Blushed, too, but it was hidden by their rouge.—[MS. erased.]

[kw] The natural and the prepared ceruse.—[MS. erased.]

{442}[583] "Drapery Misses."—This term is probably anything now but a mystery. It was, however, almost so to me when I first returned from the East in 1811-1812. It means a pretty, a high-born, a fashionable young female, well instructed by her friends, and furnished by her milliner with a wardrobe upon credit, to be repaid, when married, by the husband. The riddle was first read to me by a young and pretty heiress, on my praising the "drapery" of the "untochered" but "pretty virginities" (like Mrs. Anne Page) of the then day, which has now been some years yesterday: she assured me that the thing was common in London; and as her own thousands, and blooming looks, and rich simplicity of array, put any suspicion in her own case out of the question, I confess I gave some credit to the allegation. If necessary, authorities might be cited; in which case I could quote both "drapery" and the wearers. Let us hope, however, that it is now obsolete.

[584] [Compare Hints from Horace, line 173, Poetical Works, 1898, i. 401, note 1.]

{443}[585] [In his so-called "Dedication" of Marino Faliero to Goethe, Byron makes fun of the "nineteen hundred and eighty-seven poets," whose names were to be found in A Biographical Dictionary of Living Authors, etc. (See Introduction to Marino Faliero, Poetical Works, 1901, iv. 340, 341, note 1.)]

{444}[kx] A paper potentate——.—[MS. erased.]

[586] [See "Introduction to Cain," Poetical Works, 1901, v. 204.]

[ky] With turnkey Southey for my Hudson Lowe.—[MS.]

[kz] Beneath the reverend Cambyses Croly.—[MS.]

[587] [The Reverend George Croly, D.D. (1780-1860), began his literary career as dramatic critic of the Times. "Croly," says H.C. Robinson (Diary, 1869, i. 412), "is a fierce-looking Irishman, very lively in conversation, and certainly has considerable talents as a writer; his eloquence, like his person, is rather energetic than eloquent" (hence the epithet "Cambyses," i.e. "King Cambyses' vein" in var. iii.). "He wrote tragedies, comedies, and novels; and, at last, settled down as a preacher, with the rank of doctor, but of what faculty I do not know" (ibid., footnote, H.C.R., 1847). He wrote, inter alia, Paris in 1815, a poem; Catiline, A Tragedy, 1822; and Salathiel, a novel, 1827. In lines 7, 8, Byron seems to refer to The Angel of the World, An Arabian Poem, published in 1820.]

[588] [I Henry IV., act ii. sc. 4, line 197.]

{445}[589] [Stanza lviii. was first published in 1837. The reference is to Henry Hart Milman (1791-1868). Byron was under the impression that Milman had influenced Murray against continuing the publication of Don Juan. Added to this surmise, was the mistaken belief that it was Milman who had written the article in the Quarterly, which "killed John Keats." Hence the virulence of the attack.

"Dull Dorus" is obscure, but compare Propertius, Eleg. III. vii. 44, where Callimachus is addressed as "Dore poeta." He is the "ox of verse," because he had been recently appointed to the Professorship of Poetry at Oxford. The "roaring Romans" are "The soldiery" who shout "All, All," in Croly's Catiline, act v. sc. 2.]

[la] Then there's my gentle Barry—who they say.—[MS.]

[590] [Jeffrey, in his review of A Sicilian Story, etc., Bryan Waller Procter (Barry Cornwall), 1787-1874 (Edinburgh Review, January, 1820, vol. 33, pp. 144-155), compares Diego de Montilla, a poem in ottava rima, with Don Juan, favourably and unfavourably: "There is no profligacy and no horror ... no mocking of virtue and honour, and no strong mixtures of buffoonery and grandeur." But it may fairly match with Byron and his Italian models "as to the better qualities of elegance, delicacy, and tenderness." See, too, Blackwood's Edinburgh Magazine, March, 1820, vol. vi. pp. 153, 647.]

[591] [See Preface to the Vision of Judgment, Poetical Works, 1901, iv. 484, note 3.]

[592] [Croker's article in the Quarterly (April, 1818 [pub, September], vol. xix. pp. 204-208) did not "kill John Keats." See letter to George and Georgiana Keats, October, 1818 (Letters, etc., 1895, p. 215). Byron adopts Shelley's belief that the Reviewer, "miserable man," "one of the meanest," had "wantonly defaced one of the noblest specimens of the workmanship of God." See Preface to Adonais, and stanzas xxxvi., xxxvii.]

{446}[lb] _And weakly mind, to let that all celestial Particle_.—[MS. erased.] or, _'T is strange the mind should let such phrases quell its_ Chief Impulse with a few, frail, paper pellets_.—[MS. erased.]

[593] "Divinae particulam aurae" [Hor., Sat. ii. 2. 79]

[594] [For "the crowd of usurpers" who started up in the reign of Gallienus, and were dignified with the honoured appellation of "the thirty tyrants," see Gibbon's Decline and Fall, 1825, i. 164.]

[595] [King Lear, act iv. sc. 6, line 15.]

{447}[596] ["Illita Nesseo misi tibi texta veneno."

Ovid., Heroid. Epist. ix. 163.]

[597] [A "bower," in Moore's phrase, signifies a solitude a deux; e.g. "Here's the Bower she lov'd so much."

"Come to me, love, the twilight star Shall guide thee to my bower."

Moore.]

{448}[598] [Compare The Waltz, lines 220-229, et passim, Poetical Works, 1898, i. 501.]

{449}[599] Scotch for goblin.

[lc] Handsome but blase——[MS.]

{450}[600] [The sentiment is reiterated in The Night Thoughts, and is the theme of Resignation, which was written and published when Young was more than eighty years old. ]

[ld] And fresher, since without a breath of air.—[MS.]

[le] Where are the thousand lovely innocents?—[MS.]

[601] ["I have ... written ... to express my willingness to accept the, or almost any mortgage, any thing to get out of the tremulous Funds of these oscillating times. There will be a war somewhere, no doubt—and whatever it may be, the Funds will be affected more or less; so pray get us out of them with all proper expedition. It has been the burthen of my song to you three years and better, and about as useful as better counsels."—Letter of Byron to Kinnaird, January 18, 1823, Letters, 1901, vi. 162, 163.]

{451}[602] [For William Pole Tylney Long Wellesley (1788-1857), see The Waltz, line 21, Poetical Works, 1898, i. 484, note 1. He was only on the way to being "diddled" in 1822, but the prophecy (suggested, no doubt, by the announcement of the sale of furniture, etc., at Wanstead House, in the Morning Chronicle, July 8, 1822) was ultimately fulfilled. Samuel Whitbread, born 1758, committed suicide July 6, 1815. Sir Samuel Romilly, born 1758, committed suicide November 2, 1818.]

[603] [According to Charles Greville, George the Third made two wills—the first in 1770, the second, which he never signed, in 1810. By the first will he left "all he had to the Queen for her life, Buckingham House to the Duke of Clarence," etc., and as Buckingham House had been twice sold, and the other legatees were dead, a question arose between the King and the Duke of York as to the right of inheritance of their father's personal property. George IV. conceived that it devolved upon him personally, and not on the Crown, and "consequently appropriated to himself the whole of the money and the jewels." It is possible that this difference between the brothers was noised abroad, and that old stories of the destruction of royal wills were revived to the new king's discredit. (See The Greville Memoirs, 1875, i. 64, 65.)]

[604] [See Moore's Fum and Hum, the Two Birds of Royalty, appended to his Fudge Family.]

[605] [Lady Caroline Lamb and Lady Frances Wedderburn Webster.]

{452}[lf] —— their caps and curls at Dukes.—[MS.]

{453}[606] [The Congress at Verona, in 1822. See the Introduction to The Age of Bronze, Poetical Works, 1891, v. 537-540.]

[607] [2 Henry IV., act iv. sc. 3, line 117.]

[608] [Hor., Od. I. xi. line 8.]

[609] [Macbeth, act v. sc. 5, line 24.]

[610] [1 Henry IV., act ii. sc. 4, line 463.]

[611] [See the Secret Memoirs and Manners of several Persons of Quality, of Both Sexes, from the New Atalantis, 1709, a work in which the authoress, Mrs. Manley, satirizes the distinguished characters of her day. Warburton (Works of Pope, ed. 1751, i. 244) calls it "a famous book.... full of court and party scandal, and in a loose effeminacy of style and sentiment, which well suited the debauched taste of the better vulgar." Pope also alludes to it in the Rape of the Lock, iii. 165, 166—

"As long as Atalantis shall be read. Or the small pillow grace a lady's bed."

And Swift, in his ballad on "Corinna" (stanza 8)—

"Her common-place book all gallant is, Of scandal now a cornucopia, She pours it out in Atalantis, Or memoirs of the New Utopia."

Works, 1824, xii. 302.]

{454}[612] [Oct. 17, 1822.—MS.]



CANTO THE TWELFTH.

I.

Of all the barbarous middle ages, that Which is most barbarous is the middle age Of man! it is—I really scarce know what; But when we hover between fool and sage, And don't know justly what we would be at— A period something like a printed page, Black letter upon foolscap, while our hair Grows grizzled, and we are not what we were;—

II.

Too old for Youth,—too young, at thirty-five, To herd with boys, or hoard with good threescore,— I wonder people should be left alive; But since they are, that epoch is a bore: Love lingers still, although 't were late to wive: And as for other love, the illusion's o'er; And Money, that most pure imagination, Gleams only through the dawn of its creation.[613]

III.

O Gold! Why call we misers miserable?[614] Theirs is the pleasure that can never pall; Theirs is the best bower anchor, the chain cable Which holds fast other pleasures great and small. Ye who but see the saving man at table, And scorn his temperate board, as none at all, And wonder how the wealthy can be sparing, Know not what visions spring from each cheese-paring.

IV.

Love or lust makes Man sick, and wine much sicker; Ambition rends, and gaming gains a loss; But making money, slowly first, then quicker, And adding still a little through each cross (Which will come over things), beats Love or liquor, The gamester's counter, or the statesman's dross. O Gold! I still prefer thee unto paper, Which makes bank credit like a bank of vapour.

V.

Who hold the balance of the World? Who reign O'er congress, whether royalist or liberal? Who rouse the shirtless patriots of Spain?[615] (That make old Europe's journals "squeak and gibber"[616] all) Who keep the World, both old and new, in pain Or pleasure? Who make politics run glibber all? The shade of Buonaparte's noble daring?— Jew Rothschild,[617] and his fellow-Christian, Baring.

VI.

Those, and the truly liberal Lafitte,[618] Are the true Lords of Europe. Every loan Is not a merely speculative hit, But seats a Nation or upsets a Throne. Republics also get involved a bit; Columbia's stock hath holders not unknown On 'Change; and even thy silver soil, Peru, Must get itself discounted by a Jew.

VII.

Why call the miser miserable? as I said before: the frugal life is his, Which in a saint or cynic ever was The theme of praise: a hermit would not miss Canonization for the self-same cause, And wherefore blame gaunt Wealth's austerities? Because, you 'll say, nought calls for such a trial;— Then there's more merit in his self-denial.

VIII.

He is your only poet;—Passion, pure And sparkling on from heap to heap, displays, Possessed, the ore, of which mere hopes allure Nations athwart the deep: the golden rays Flash up in ingots from the mine obscure: On him the Diamond pours its brilliant blaze, While the mild Emerald's beam shades down the dies Of other stones, to soothe the miser's eyes.

IX.

The lands on either side are his; the ship From Ceylon, Inde, or far Cathay, unloads For him the fragrant produce of each trip; Beneath his cars of Ceres groan the roads, And the vine blushes like Aurora's lip; His very cellars might be Kings' abodes; While he, despising every sensual call, Commands—the intellectual Lord of all.

X.

Perhaps he hath great projects in his mind, To build a college, or to found a race, A hospital, a church,—and leave behind Some dome surmounted by his meagre face: Perhaps he fain would liberate Mankind Even with the very ore which makes them base; Perhaps he would be wealthiest of his nation, Or revel in the joys of calculation.

XI.

But whether all, or each, or none of these May be the hoarder's principle of action, The fool will call such mania a disease:— What is his own? Go—look at each transaction, Wars, revels, loves—do these bring men more ease Than the mere plodding through each "vulgar fraction?" Or do they benefit Mankind? Lean Miser! Let spendthrifts' heirs inquire of yours—who's wiser?

XII.

How beauteous are rouleaus! how charming chests Containing ingots, bags of dollars, coins (Not of old victors, all whose heads and crests Weigh not the thin ore where their visage shines,[lg] But) of fine unclipped gold, where dully rests Some likeness, which the glittering cirque confines, Of modern, reigning, sterling, stupid stamp!— Yes! ready money is Aladdin's lamp.[619]

XIII.

"Love rules the Camp, the Court, the Grove,—for Love Is Heaven, and Heaven is Love:"[620]—so sings the bard; Which it were rather difficult to prove (A thing with poetry in general hard). Perhaps there may be something in "the Grove," At least it rhymes to "Love:" but I'm prepared To doubt (no less than landlords of their rental) If "Courts" and "Camps" be quite so sentimental.

XIV.

But if Love don't, Cash does, and Cash alone: Cash rules the Grove, and fells it too besides; Without cash, camps were thin, and courts were none; Without cash, Malthus tells you—"take no brides."[621] So Cash rules Love the ruler, on his own High ground, as virgin Cynthia sways the tides: And as for "Heaven being Love," why not say honey Is wax? Heaven is not Love, 't is Matrimony.

XV.

Is not all Love prohibited whatever, Excepting Marriage? which is Love, no doubt, After a sort; but somehow people never With the same thought the two words have helped out. Love may exist with Marriage, and should ever, And Marriage also may exist without; But Love sans banns is both a sin and shame, And ought to go by quite another name.

XVI.

Now if the "Court," and "Camp," and "Grove," be not Recruited all with constant married men, Who never coveted their neighbour's lot, I say that line's a lapsus of the pen;— Strange too in my buon camerado Scott, So celebrated for his morals, when My Jeffrey held him up as an example[622] To me;—of whom these morals are a sample.[lh]

XVII.

Well, if I don't succeed, I have succeeded, And that's enough; succeeded in my youth, The only time when much success is needed: And my success produced what I, in sooth, Cared most about; it need not now be pleaded— Whate'er it was, 'twas mine; I've paid, in truth, Of late, the penalty of such success, But have not learned to wish it any less.

XVIII.

That suit in Chancery,[623]—which some persons plead In an appeal to the unborn, whom they, In the faith of their procreative creed, Baptize Posterity, or future clay,— To me seems but a dubious kind of reed To lean on for support in any way; Since odds are that Posterity will know No more of them, than they of her, I trow.

XIX.[li]

Why, I'm Posterity—and so are you; And whom do we remember? Not a hundred. Were every memory written down all true, The tenth or twentieth name would be but blundered; Even Plutarch's Lives have but picked out a few, And 'gainst those few your annalists have thundered; And Mitford[624] in the nineteenth century Gives, with Greek truth, the good old Greek the lie.

XX.

Good people all, of every degree, Ye gentle readers and ungentle writers, In this twelfth Canto 't is my wish to be As serious as if I had for inditers Malthus and Wilberforce:—the last set free The Negroes, and is worth a million fighters; While Wellington has but enslaved the Whites, And Malthus[625] does the thing 'gainst which he writes.

XXI.

I'm serious—so are all men upon paper; And why should I not form my speculation, And hold up to the Sun my little taper?[626] Mankind just now seem wrapped in meditation On constitutions and steam-boats of vapour; While sages write against all procreation, Unless a man can calculate his means Of feeding brats the moment his wife weans.

XXII.

That's noble! That's romantic! For my part, I think that "Philo-genitiveness" is— (Now here's a word quite after my own heart, Though there's a shorter a good deal than this, If that politeness set it not apart; But I'm resolved to say nought that's amiss)— I say, methinks that "Philo-genitiveness"[627] Might meet from men a little more forgiveness.

XXIII.

And now to business.—O my gentle Juan! Thou art in London—in that pleasant place, Where every kind of mischief's daily brewing, Which can await warm Youth in its wild race. 'T is true, that thy career is not a new one; Thou art no novice in the headlong chase Of early life; but this is a new land, Which foreigners can never understand.

XXIV.

What with a small diversity of climate, Of hot or cold, mercurial or sedate, I could send forth my mandate like a Primate Upon the rest of Europe's social state; But thou art the most difficult to rhyme at, Great Britain, which the Muse may penetrate. All countries have their "Lions," but in thee There is but one superb menagerie.

XXV.

But I am sick of politics. Begin— "Paulo Majora." Juan, undecided Amongst the paths of being "taken in," Above the ice had like a skater glided:[lj] When tired of play, he flirted without sin With some of those fair creatures who have prided Themselves on innocent tantalisation,[lk] And hate all vice except its reputation.

XXVI.

But these are few, and in the end they make Some devilish escapade or stir, which shows That even the purest people may mistake Their way through Virtue's primrose paths of snows; And then men stare, as if a new ass spake To Balaam, and from tongue to ear o'erflows Quicksilver small talk, ending (if you note it) With the kind World's Amen—"Who would have thought it?"

XXVII.

The little Leila, with her Orient eyes, And taciturn Asiatic disposition, (Which saw all Western things with small surprise, To the surprise of people of condition, Who think that novelties are butterflies To be pursued as food for inanition,) Her charming figure and romantic history Became a kind of fashionable mystery.

XXVIII.

The women much divided—as is usual Amongst the sex in little things or great— Think not, fair creatures, that I mean to abuse you all, I have always liked you better than I state— Since I've grown moral, still I must accuse you all Of being apt to talk at a great rate; And now there was a general sensation Amongst you, about Leila's education.

XXIX.

In one point only were you settled—and You had reason; 't was that a young child of grace, As beautiful as her own native land, And far away, the last bud of her race, Howe'er our friend Don Juan might command Himself for five, four, three, or two years' space, Would be much better taught beneath the eye Of peeresses whose follies had run dry.

XXX.

So first there was a generous emulation, And then there was a general competition, To undertake the orphan's education: As Juan was a person of condition, It had been an affront on this occasion To talk of a subscription or petition; But sixteen dowagers, ten unwed she sages Whose tale belongs to "Hallam's Middle Ages,"[628]

XXXI.

And one or two sad, separate wives, without A fruit to bloom upon their withering bough— Begged to bring up the little girl, and "out"— For that's the phrase that settles all things now, Meaning a virgin's first blush at a rout, And all her points as thorough-bred to show: And I assure you, that like virgin honey Tastes their first season (mostly if they have money).

XXXII.

How all the needy honourable misters, Each out-at-elbow peer, or desperate dandy, The watchful mothers, and the careful sisters, (Who, by the by, when clever, are more handy At making matches, where "'t is gold that glisters," Than their he relatives), like flies o'er candy Buzz round "the Fortune" with their busy battery, To turn her head with waltzing and with flattery!

XXXIII.

Each aunt, each cousin, hath her speculation; Nay, married dames will now and then discover Such pure disinterestedness of passion, I've known them court an heiress for their lover. "Tantoene!" Such the virtues of high station, Even in the hopeful Isle, whose outlet's "Dover!" While the poor rich wretch, object of these cares, Has cause to wish her sire had had male heirs.

XXXIV.

Some are soon bagged, and some reject three dozen: 'T is fine to see them scattering refusals And wild dismay o'er every angry cousin (Friends of the party), who begin accusals, Such as—"Unless Miss Blank meant to have chosen Poor Frederick, why did she accord perusals To his billets? Why waltz with him? Why, I pray, Look 'Yes' last night, and yet say 'No' to-day?

XXXV.

"Why?—Why?—Besides, Fred really was attached; 'T was not her fortune—he has enough without; The time will come she'll wish that she had snatched So good an opportunity, no doubt:— But the old Marchioness some plan had hatched, As I'll tell Aurea at to-morrow's rout: And after all poor Frederick may do better— Pray did you see her answer to his letter?"

XXXVI.

Smart uniforms and sparkling coronets Are spurned in turn, until her turn arrives, After male loss of time, and hearts, and bets Upon the sweepstakes for substantial wives; And when at last the pretty creature gets Some gentleman, who fights, or writes, or drives, It soothes the awkward squad of the rejected To find how very badly she selected.

XXXVII.

For sometimes they accept some long pursuer, Worn out with importunity; or fall (But here perhaps the instances are fewer) To the lot of him who scarce pursued at all. A hazy widower turned of forty 's sure[ll][629] (If 't is not vain examples to recall)[lm] To draw a high prize: now, howe'er he got her, I See nought more strange in this than t' other lottery.

XXXVIII.

I, for my part—(one "modern instance" more, "True,'t is a pity—pity 't is, 't is true")—[630] Was chosen from out an amatory score, Albeit my years were less discreet than few; But though I also had reformed before Those became one who soon were to be two, I'll not gainsay the generous public's voice, That the young lady made a monstrous choice.

XXXIX.

Oh, pardon my digression—or at least Peruse! 'T is always with a moral end That I dissert, like grace before a feast: For like an aged aunt, or tiresome friend, A rigid guardian, or a zealous priest, My Muse by exhortation means to mend All people, at all times, and in most places, Which puts my Pegasus to these grave paces.

XL.

But now I'm going to be immoral; now I mean to show things really as they are, Not as they ought to be: for I avow, That till we see what's what in fact, we're far From much improvement with that virtuous plough Which skims the surface, leaving scarce a scar Upon the black loam long manured by Vice, Only to keep its corn at the old price.

XLI.

But first of little Leila we'll dispose,[ln] For like a day-dawn she was young and pure— Or like the old comparison of snows,[631] (Which are more pure than pleasant, to be sure, Like many people everybody knows),— Don Juan was delighted to secure A goodly guardian for his infant charge, Who might not profit much by being at large.

XLII.

Besides, he had found out he was no tutor (I wish that others would find out the same),[632] And rather wished in such things to stand neuter, For silly wards will bring their guardians blame: So when he saw each ancient dame a suitor To make his little wild Asiatic tame, Consulting "the Society for Vice Suppression," Lady Pinchbeck was his choice.

XLIII.

Olden she was—but had been very young; Virtuous she was—and had been, I believe; Although the World has such an evil tongue That—but my chaster ear will not receive An echo of a syllable that's wrong:[lo] In fact, there's nothing makes me so much grieve, As that abominable tittle-tattle, Which is the cud eschewed[633] by human cattle.

XLIV.

Moreover I've remarked (and I was once A slight observer in a modest way), And so may every one except a dunce, That ladies in their youth a little gay, Besides their knowledge of the World, and sense Of the sad consequence of going astray, Are wiser in their warnings 'gainst the woe Which the mere passionless can never know.

XLV.

While the harsh prude indemnifies her virtue By railing at the unknown and envied passion, Seeking far less to save you than to hurt you, Or, what's still worse, to put you out of fashion,— The kinder veteran with calm words will court you, Entreating you to pause before you dash on; Expounding and illustrating the riddle Of epic Love's beginning—end—and middle.

XLVI.

Now whether it be thus, or that they are stricter, As better knowing why they should be so, I think you'll find from many a family picture, That daughters of such mothers as may know The World by experience rather than by lecture, Turn out much better for the Smithfield Show Of vestals brought into the marriage mart, Than those bred up by prudes without a heart.

XLVII.

I said that Lady Pinchbeck had been talked about— As who has not, if female, young, and pretty? But now no more the ghost of Scandal stalked about; She merely was deemed amiable and witty, And several of her best bons-mots were hawked about: Then she was given to charity and pity, And passed (at least the latter years of life) For being a most exemplary wife.

XLVIII.

High in high circles, gentle in her own, She was the mild reprover of the young, Whenever—which means every day—they'd shown An awkward inclination to go wrong. The quantity of good she did 's unknown, Or at the least would lengthen out my song: In brief, the little orphan of the East Had raised an interest in her,—which increased.

XLIX.

Juan, too, was a sort of favourite with her, Because she thought him a good heart at bottom, A little spoiled, but not so altogether; Which was a wonder, if you think who got him, And how he had been tossed, he scarce knew whither: Though this might ruin others, it did not him, At least entirely—for he had seen too many Changes in Youth, to be surprised at any.

L.

And these vicissitudes tell best in youth; For when they happen at a riper age, People are apt to blame the Fates, forsooth, And wonder Providence is not more sage. Adversity is the first path to Truth: He who hath proved War—Storm—or Woman's rage, Whether his winters be eighteen or eighty, Hath won the experience which is deemed so weighty.

LI.

How far it profits is another matter.— Our hero gladly saw his little charge Safe with a lady, whose last grown-up daughter Being long married, and thus set at large, Had left all the accomplishments she taught her To be transmitted, like the Lord Mayor's barge, To the next comer; or—as it will tell More Muse-like—like to Cytherea's shell.[lp]

LII.

I call such things transmission; for there is A floating balance of accomplishment, Which forms a pedigree from Miss to Miss, According as their minds or backs are bent. Some waltz—some draw—some fathom the abyss Of Metaphysics; others are content With Music; the most moderate shine as wits;— While others have a genius turned for fits.

LIII.

But whether fits, or wits, or harpsichords— Theology—fine arts—or finer stays, May be the baits for Gentlemen or Lords With regular descent, in these our days, The last year to the new transfers its hoards; New vestals claim men's eyes with the same praise Of "elegant" et caetera, in fresh batches— All matchless creatures—and yet bent on matches.

LIV.

But now I will begin my poem. 'Tis Perhaps a little strange, if not quite new, That from the first of Cantos up to this I've not begun what we have to go through. These first twelve books are merely flourishes, Preludios, trying just a string or two Upon my lyre, or making the pegs sure; And when so, you shall have the overture.

LV.

My Muses do not care a pinch of rosin About what's called success, or not succeeding: Such thoughts are quite below the strain they have chosen; 'T is a "great moral lesson"[634] they are reading. I thought, at setting off, about two dozen Cantos would do; but at Apollo's pleading, If that my Pegasus should not be foundered, I think to canter gently through a hundred.

LVI.

Don Juan saw that Microcosm on stilts, Yclept the Great World; for it is the least, Although the highest: but as swords have hilts By which their power of mischief is increased, When Man in battle or in quarrel tilts, Thus the low world, north, south, or west, or east, Must still obey the high[635]—which is their handle, Their Moon, their Sun, their gas, their farthing candle.

LVII.

He had many friends who had many wives, and was Well looked upon by both, to that extent Of friendship which you may accept or pass, It does nor good nor harm; being merely meant To keep the wheels going of the higher class, And draw them nightly when a ticket's sent; And what with masquerades, and fetes, and balls, For the first season such a life scarce palls.

LVIII.

A young unmarried man, with a good name And fortune, has an awkward part to play; For good society is but a game, "The royal game of Goose,"[636] as I may say, Where everybody has some separate aim, An end to answer, or a plan to lay— The single ladies wishing to be double, The married ones to save the virgins trouble.

LIX.

I don't mean this as general, but particular Examples may be found of such pursuits: Though several also keep their perpendicular Like poplars, with good principles for roots; Yet many have a method more reticular— "Fishers for men," like Sirens with soft lutes: For talk six times with the same single lady, And you may get the wedding-dresses ready.

LX.

Perhaps you'll have a letter from the mother, To say her daughter's feelings are trepanned; Perhaps you'll have a visit from the brother, All strut, and stays, and whiskers, to demand What "your intentions are?"—One way or other It seems the virgin's heart expects your hand: And between pity for her case and yours, You'll add to Matrimony's list of cures.

LXI.

I've known a dozen weddings made even thus, And some of them high names: I have also known Young men who—though they hated to discuss Pretensions which they never dreamed to have shown— Yet neither frightened by a female fuss, Nor by mustachios moved, were let alone, And lived, as did the broken-hearted fair, In happier plight than if they formed a pair.

LXII.

There's also nightly, to the uninitiated, A peril—not indeed like Love or Marriage, But not the less for this to be depreciated: It is—I meant and mean not to disparage The show of Virtue even in the vitiated— It adds an outward grace unto their carriage— But to denounce the amphibious sort of harlot, Couleur de rose, who's neither white nor scarlet.

LXIII.

Such is your cold coquette, who can't say "No," And won't say "Yes," and keeps you on and off-ing On a lee-shore, till it begins to blow— Then sees your heart wrecked, with an inward scoffing. This works a world of sentimental woe,[lq] And sends new Werters yearly to their coffin; But yet is merely innocent flirtation, Not quite adultery, but adulteration.

LXIV.

"Ye gods, I grow a talker!"[637] Let us prate. The next of perils, though I place it sternest, Is when, without regard to Church or State, A wife makes or takes love in upright earnest. Abroad, such things decide few women's fate— (Such, early Traveller! is the truth thou learnest)— But in old England, when a young bride errs, Poor thing! Eve's was a trifling case to hers.

LXV.

For 't is a low, newspaper, humdrum, lawsuit Country, where a young couple of the same ages[lr] Can't form a friendship, but the world o'erawes it. Then there's the vulgar trick of those d——d damages! A verdict—grievous foe to those who cause it!— Forms a sad climax to romantic homages; Besides those soothing speeches of the pleaders, And evidences which regale all readers.

LXVI.

But they who blunder thus are raw beginners; A little genial sprinkling of hypocrisy Has saved the fame of thousand splendid sinners, The loveliest oligarchs of our Gynocracy;[638] You may see such at all the balls and dinners, Among the proudest of our aristocracy, So gentle, charming, charitable, chaste— And all by having tact as well as taste.

LXVII.

Juan, who did not stand in the predicament Of a mere novice, had one safeguard more; For he was sick—no, 't was not the word sick I meant— But he had seen so much good love before, That he was not in heart so very weak;—I meant But thus much, and no sneer against the shore Of white cliffs, white necks, blue eyes, bluer stockings— Tithes, taxes, duns—and doors with double knockings.[ls]

LXVIII.

But coming young from lands and scenes romantic, Where lives, not lawsuits, must be risked for Passion And Passion's self must have a spice of frantic, Into a country where 't is half a fashion, Seemed to him half commercial, half pedantic, Howe'er he might esteem this moral nation: Besides (alas! his taste—forgive and pity!) At first he did not think the women pretty.

LXIX.

I say at first—for he found out at last, But by degrees, that they were fairer far Than the more glowing dames whose lot is cast Beneath the influence of the Eastern Star. A further proof we should not judge in haste; Yet inexperience could not be his bar To taste:—the truth is, if men would confess, That novelties please less than they impress.

LXX.

Though travelled, I have never had the luck to Trace up those shuffling negroes, Nile or Niger, To that impracticable place Timbuctoo, Where Geography finds no one to oblige her With such a chart as may be safely stuck to— For Europe ploughs in Afric like "bos piger:"[639] But if I had been at Timbuctoo, there No doubt I should be told that black is fair.[lt][640]

LXXI.

It is. 1 will not swear that black is white, But I suspect in fact that white is black, And the whole matter rests upon eye-sight:— Ask a blind man, the best judge. You'll attack Perhaps this new position—but I'm right; Or if I'm wrong, I'll not be ta'en aback:— He hath no morn nor night, but all is dark Within—and what seest thou? A dubious spark!

LXXII.

But I'm relapsing into Metaphysics, That labyrinth, whose clue is of the same Construction as your cures for hectic phthisics, Those bright moths fluttering round a dying flame: And this reflection brings me to plain Physics, And to the beauties of a foreign dame, Compared with those of our pure pearls of price, Those polar summers, all Sun, and some ice.[lu][641]

LXXIII.

Or say they are like virtuous mermaids, whose Beginnings are fair faces, ends mere fishes;— Not that there's not a quantity of those Who have a due respect for their own wishes. Like Russians rushing from hot baths to snows[642] Are they, at bottom virtuous even when vicious: They warm into a scrape, but keep of course, As a reserve, a plunge into remorse.

LXXIV.

But this has nought to do with their outsides. I said that Juan did not think them pretty At the first blush; for a fair Briton hides Half her attractions—probably from pity—And rather calmly into the heart glides, Than storms it as a foe would take a city; But once there (if you doubt this, prithee try)[lv] She keeps it for you like a true ally.

LXXV.

She cannot step as does an Arab barb,[643] Or Andalusian girl from mass returning, Nor wear as gracefully as Gauls her garb, Nor in her eye Ausonia's glance is burning; Her voice, though sweet, is not so fit to warb- le those bravuras (which I still am learning To like, though I have been seven years in Italy, And have, or had, an ear that served me prettily);—

LXXVI.

She cannot do these things, nor one or two Others, in that off-hand and dashing style Which takes so much—to give the Devil his due; Nor is she quite so ready with her smile, Nor settles all things in one interview, (A thing approved as saving time and toil);— But though the soil may give you time and trouble, Well cultivated, it will render double.

LXXVII.

And if in fact she takes to a grande passion, It is a very serious thing indeed: Nine times in ten 't is but caprice or fashion, Coquetry, or a wish to take the lead, The pride of a mere child with a new sash on, Or wish to make a rival's bosom bleed: But the tenth instance will be a tornado, For there's no saying what they will or may do.

LXXVIII.

The reason's obvious: if there's an eclat, They lose their caste at once, as do the Parias; And when the delicacies of the Law Have filled their papers with their comments various, Society, that china without flaw, (The Hypocrite!) will banish them like Marius, To sit amidst the ruins of their guilt:[644] For Fame's a Carthage not so soon rebuilt.

LXXIX.

Perhaps this is as it should be;—it is A comment on the Gospel's "Sin no more, And be thy sins forgiven:"—but upon this I leave the Saints to settle their own score. Abroad, though doubtless they do much amiss, An erring woman finds an opener door For her return to Virtue—as they call That Lady, who should be at home to all.[lw]

LXXX.

For me, I leave the matter where I find it, Knowing that such uneasy virtue leads People some ten times less in fact to mind it, And care but for discoveries, and not deeds. And as for Chastity, you'll never bind it By all the laws the strictest lawyer pleads, But aggravate the crime you have not prevented, By rendering desperate those who had else repented.

LXXXI.

But Juan was no casuist, nor had pondered Upon the moral lessons of mankind: Besides, he had not seen of several hundred A lady altogether to his mind. A little blase—'t is not to be wondered At, that his heart had got a tougher rind: And though not vainer from his past success, No doubt his sensibilities were less.

LXXXII.

He also had been busy seeing sights— The Parliament and all the other houses; Had sat beneath the Gallery at nights, To hear debates whose thunder roused (not rouses) The World to gaze upon those Northern Lights, Which flashed as far as where the musk-bull browses;[645] He had also stood at times behind the Throne— But Grey[646] was not arrived, and Chatham gone.[647]

LXXXIII.

He saw, however, at the closing session, That noble sight, when really free the nation, A King in constitutional possession Of such a Throne as is the proudest station, Though Despots know it not—till the progression Of Freedom shall complete their education. 'T is not mere Splendour makes the show august To eye or heart—it is the People's trust.

LXXXIV.

There, too, he saw (whate'er he may be now) A Prince, the prince of Princes at the time,[648] With fascination in his very bow, And full of promise, as the spring of prime. Though Royalty was written on his brow, He had then the grace, too, rare in every clime, Of being, without alloy of fop or beau, A finished Gentleman from top to toe.[649]

LXXXV.

And Juan was received, as hath been said, Into the best society; and there Occurred what often happens, I'm afraid, However disciplined and debonnaire:— The talent and good humour he displayed, Besides the marked distinction of his air, Exposed him, as was natural, to temptation, Even though himself avoided the occasion.

LXXXVI.

But what, and where, with whom, and when, and why, Is not to be put hastily together; And as my object is Morality (Whatever people say), I don't know whether I'll leave a single reader's eyelid dry, But harrow up his feelings till they wither, And hew out a huge monument of pathos, As Philip's son proposed to do with Athos.[650]

LXXXVII.

Here the twelfth canto of our Introduction Ends. When the body of the Book's begun, You'll find it of a different construction From what some people say 't will be when done; The plan at present 's simply in concoction. I can't oblige you, reader, to read on; That's your affair, not mine: a real spirit Should neither court neglect, nor dread to bear it.

LXXXVIII.

And if my thunderbolt not always rattles, Remember, reader! you have had before, The worst of tempests and the best of battles, That e'er were brewed from elements or gore, Besides the most sublime of—Heaven knows what else; An usurer could scarce expect much more— But my best canto—save one on astronomy— Will turn upon "Political Economy."[651]

LXXXIX.

That is your present theme for popularity: Now that the public hedge hath scarce a stake, It grows an act of patriotic charity, To show the people the best way to break. My plan (but I, if but for singularity, Reserve it) will be very sure to take. Meantime, read all the National-Debt sinkers, And tell me what you think of our great thinkers.[652]

FOOTNOTES:

{455}[613] [See letter to Douglas Kinnaird, dated Genoa, January 18, 1823.]

[614] [Johnson would not believe that "a complete miser is a happy man." "That," he said, "is flying in the face of all the world, who have called an avaricious man a miser, because he is miserable. No, sir; a man who both spends and saves money is the happiest man, because he has both enjoyments."—Boswell's Life of Johnson, 1876, p. 605.]

{456}[615] [The Descamisados, or Sansculottes of the Spanish Revolution of 1820-1823. For Spanish "Liberals," see Quarterly Review, April, 1823, vol. xxix. pp. 270-276.]

[616] [Hamlet, act i. sc. 1, line 116.]

[617] [See The Age of Bronze, line 678, sq., Poetical Works, 1901, v. 573, note 3.]

[618] [Jacques Laffitte (1767-1844), as Governor of the Bank of France, advanced sums to Parisians to meet their enforced contributions to the allies, and, in 1817, advocated liberal measures as a Deputy.]

{458}[lg] Were not worth one whereon their profile shines.—[MS. erased.]

[619] ["They say that 'Knowledge is Power';—I used to think so; but I now know that they meant Money ... every guinea is a philosopher's stone, or at least his touch-stone. You will doubt me the less, when I pronounce my pious belief—that Cash is Virtue."—Letter to Kinnaird, February 6, 1822, Letters, 1901, vi. 11.]

[620] [Lay of the Last Minstrel, Canto III. stanza ii. lines 4-6.]

{459}[621] [See Godwin's Essay Of Population, 1820 (pp. 18, 19, et passim), in which he renews his attack on Malthus's Essay on the Principles of Population.]

[622] ["We have no notion that Lord B[yron] had any mischievous intention in these publications—and readily acquit him of any wish to corrupt the morals, or impair the happiness of his readers ... but it is our duty ... to say, that much of what he has published appears to us to have this tendency.... How opposite to this is the system, or the temper, of the great author of Waverley!"—Edinburgh Review, February, 1822, vol. 36, p. 451.]

[lh] —— for his moral pen Held up to me by Jeffrey as example. Of which with profit—as you'll soon see by a sample.—[MS. erased.]

{460}[623] [In the case of Murray v. Benbow (February 9, 1822), the Lord Chancellor (Lord Eldon) refused the motion for an injunction to restrain the defendant from publishing a pirated edition of Lord Byron's poem of Cain (Jacob's Reports, p. 474, note). Hence (see var. i.) the allusion to "Law" and "Equity." The "suit" and the "appeal" (vide ibid.) refer to legal proceedings taken, or intended to be taken, with regard to certain questions arising out of the disposition of property under Lady Noel's will. (See letters to Charles Hanson, September 21, November 30, 1822, Letters, 1901, vi. 115, 146.)]

[li] That suit in Chancery—have a Chancery suit— In right good earnest—also an appeal Before the Lords, whose Chancellor's more acute In Law than Equity—as I can feel Because my Cases put his Lordship to 't And—though no doubt 't is for the Public weal, His Lordship's Justice is not that of Solomon— Not that I deem our Chief Judge is a hollow man.—[MS. erased.]

[624] See [William] Mitford's Greece (1829, v. 314, 315), "Graecia Verax." His great pleasure consists in praising tyrants, abusing Plutarch, spelling oddly, and writing quaintly; and what is strange, after all, his is the best modern history of Greece in any language, and he is perhaps the best of all modern historians whatsoever. Having named his sins, it is but fair to state his virtues—learning, labour, research, wrath, and partiality. I call the latter virtues in a writer, because they make him write in earnest.

[Byron consulted Mitford when he was at work on Sardanapalus. (See Extracts from a Diary, January 5, 1821, Letters, 1901, v. 152, note 1.)]

{461}[625] [Thomas Robert Malthus (1766-1834) married, in 1804, Harriet, daughter of John Eckersall of Claverton House, near Bath. There were three children of the marriage, of whom two survived him. Byron may be alluding to the apocryphal story of "his eleven daughters," related by J.L.A. Cherbuliez, in the Journal des Economistes (1850, vol. xxv. p. 135): "Un soir ... il y avait cercle chez M. de Sismondi, a sa maison de campagne pres de Geneve.... Enfin, on annonce le reverend Malthus et sa famille. Sa famille!... Alors on voit entrer une charmante jeune fille, puis une seconde, puis une troisieme, puis une quatrieme, puis ... Il n'y en avait, ma fois, pas moins de onze!" See Malthus and his Work, by James Bonar, 1885, pp. 412, 413. See, too, Nouveau Dictionnaire de L'Economie Politique, 1892, art. "Malthus."]

[626] [Compare—

"How commentators each dark passage shun, And hold their farthing candle to the sun."

Love of Fame, the Universal Passion, by Edward Young, Sat. vii. lines 97, 98.]

{462}[627] [Philo-progenitiveness. Spurzheim and Gall discover the organ of this name in a bump behind the ears, and say it is remarkably developed in the bull.]

[lj] He played and paid, made love without much sin.—[MS. erased.]

{463}[lk] Themselves on seldom yielding to temptation.—[MS. erased.]

{464}[628] [Henry Hallam (1778-1859) published his View of the State of Europe in the Middle Ages in 1818.]

{465}[ll] A drunken Gentleman of forty's sure.—[MS.]

[629] This line may puzzle the commentators more than the present generation.

[lm] If he can hiccup nonsense at a ball. or, If he goes after dinner to a ball.-[MS. erased.]

{466}[630] [As You Like It, act ii. sc. 7, line 156; and Hamlet, act ii. sc. 2, lines, 97, 98.]

[ln] But first of little Leilah——.—[MS.]

[631] [For the allusion to "unsunned snows," vide ante, p. 275, note 1.]

{467}[632] [The reference may be to Hobhouse and the "Zoili of Albemarle Street," who did their best to "tutor" him with regard to "blazing indiscretions" in Don Juan.]

[lo] That—but I will not listen, by your leave, Unto a single syllable——.—[MS.]

[633] [For another instance of this curious mistake, see letter to Hodgson, December 8, 1811, Letters, 1898, ii. 85; et ibid., p. 31, note 1.]

{469}[lp] Painted and gilded—or, as it will tell More Muse-like—say—like Cytherea's shell.—[MS.]

{470}[634] [Vide ante, Preface to Cantos VI., VII., and VIII., p. 266.]

[635] ["Enfin partout la bonne societe regle tout."—Voltaire.]

{471}[636] ["This game originated, I believe, in Germany.... It is called the game of the goose, because at every fourth and fifth compartment of the table in succession a goose is depicted; and if the cast thrown by the player falls upon a goose, he moves forward double the number of his throw" (Sports and Pastimes, etc., by Joseph Strutt, 1801, p. 250).

Goldsmith, in his Deserted Village, among other "parlour splendours," mentions "the twelve good rules, the royal game of goose."]

{472}[lq] Most young beginners may be taken so, But those who have been a little used to roughing Know how to end this half-and-half flirtation.—[MS. erased.]

[637] ["I'll grow a talker for this gear."

Merchant of Venice, act i. sc. 1, line 110.]

{473}[lr] Country where warm young people——.—[MS. erased.]

[638] [Pope and Scott use the quasi-contracted "gynocracy" for "gynaecocracy." (See N. Engl. Dict.)]

[ls] Of white cliffs—and white bosoms—and blue eyes— And stockings—virtues, loves and Chastities.—[MS. erased.]

{474}[639] [Hor., Epist., lib. 1, ep. xiv. line 43. The meaning is that Europe makes but little progress in the discovery and settlement of Africa, and, as it were, "ploughs the sands."]

[lt] Though many thousands both of birth and pluck too, Have ventured past the jaws of Moor and Tiger.[*]

[*]Note. By particular licence, "positively for the last time, by desire," etc., to be pronounced "tydger." Such is what Gifford calls "the necessity of rhyming."—[MS. erased.]

[640] ["Though many degrees nearer our own fair and blue-eyed beauties in complexion ... yet no people ever lost more by comparison than did the white ladies of Moorzuk [capital of Fezzan] with the black ones of Bornou and Soudan."—Narrative of Travels ... in Northern and Central Africa, 1822-24, by Denham, Clapperton, and Oudney, 1828, ii. 133.]

{475}[lu] Above, all sunshine, and, below, all ice.—[MS. erased.]

[641] [Compare Prisoner of Chillon, lines 82-85, Poetical Works, 1901, iv. 17.]

[642] The Russians, as is well known, run out from their hot baths to plunge into the Neva; a pleasant practical antithesis, which it seems does them no harm.

{476}[lv] But once there (few have felt this more than I).—[MS. erased.]

[643] [Compare Childe Harold, Canto II. stanza lviii. line 9, Poetical Works, 1899, ii. 59, note 1.]

{477}[644] [See Plutarch's Caius Marius, Langhorne's translation, 1838, pp. 304, 305.]

[lw] That Lady who is not at home to all.—[MS. erased.]

{478}[645] For a description and print of this inhabitant of the polar region and native country of the Aurorae Boreales, see Sir E. Parry's Voyage In Search of a North-West Passage, [1821, p. 257. The print of the Musk-Bull is drawn and engraved by W. Westall, A.R.A., from a sketch by Lieut. Beechy. He is a "fearful wild-fowl!"]

[646] [Charles, second Earl Grey, born March 13, 1764, succeeded to the peerage in 1807, died July 17, 1847.]

[647] [William Pitt, first Earl of Chatham, born November 15, 1708, died May 11, 1778.]

[648] ["His person was undoubtedly cast by Nature in an elegant and pleasing mould, of a just height, well-proportioned, and with due regard to symmetry.... His countenance was handsome and prepossessing.... His manners were captivating, noble, and dignified, yet unaffectedly condescending.... Homer, as well as Virgil, was familiar to the Prince of Wales; and his memory, which was very tenacious, enabled him to cite with graceful readiness the favourite passages of either poet."—The Historical ... Memoirs of Sir N.W. Wraxall, 1884, v. 353, 354.]

[649] ["Waving myself, let me talk to you of the Prince Regent. He ordered me to be presented to him at a ball; and after some sayings peculiarly pleasing from royal lips, as to my own attempts, he talked to me of you and your immortalities; he preferred you to every other bard past and present.... He spoke alternately of Homer and yourself, and seemed well acquainted with both.... [All] this was conveyed in language which would only suffer by my attempting to transcribe it, and with a tone and taste which gave me a very high idea of his abilities and accomplishments, which I had hitherto considered as confined to manners certainly superior to those of any living gentleman."—Letter to Sir Walter Scott, July 6, 1812, Letters, 1898, ii. 134.]

{479}[650] B. 10^bre^ 7^th^ 1822.—[MS.]

A sculptor projected to hew Mount Athos into a statue of Alexander, with a city in one hand, and, I believe, a river in his pocket, with various other similar devices. But Alexander's gone, and Athos remains, I trust ere long to look over a nation of freemen.

[It was an architect named Stasicrates who proposed to execute this imperial monument. But Alexander bade him leave Mount Athos alone. As it was, it might be christened "Xerxes, his Folly," and, for his part, he preferred to regard Mount Caucasus, and the Himalayas, and the river Don as the symbolic memorials of his acts and deeds.—Plutarch's Moralia. "De Alexandri Fortuna et Virtute," Orat. II. cap. ii.]

{480}[651] [The "Political Economy" Club was founded in April, 1821. James Mill, Thomas Tooke, and David Ricardo were among the original members, See Political Economy Club, Revised Report, 1876, p. 60.]

[652] [Stanzas lxxxviii. and lxxxix. are not in the MS.]



CANTO THE THIRTEENTH.[653]

I.

I now mean to be serious;—it is time, Since Laughter now-a-days is deemed too serious; A jest at Vice by Virtue's called a crime, And critically held as deleterious: Besides, the sad's a source of the sublime, Although, when long, a little apt to weary us; And therefore shall my lay soar high and solemn, As an old temple dwindled to a column.

II.

The Lady Adeline Amundeville ('T is an old Norman name, and to be found In pedigrees, by those who wander still Along the last fields of that Gothic ground) Was high-born, wealthy by her father's will, And beauteous, even where beauties most abound, In Britain—which, of course, true patriots find The goodliest soil of Body and of Mind.

III.

I'll not gainsay them; it is not my cue; I'll leave them to their taste, no doubt the best; An eye's an eye, and whether black or blue, Is no great matter, so 't is in request; 'T is nonsense to dispute about a hue— The kindest may be taken as a test. The fair sex should be always fair; and no man, Till thirty, should perceive there's a plain woman.

IV.

And after that serene and somewhat dull Epoch, that awkward corner turned for days More quiet, when our moon's no more at full, We may presume to criticise or praise; Because Indifference begins to lull Our passions, and we walk in Wisdom's ways; Also because the figure and the face Hint, that 't is time to give the younger place.

V.

I know that some would fain postpone this era, Reluctant as all placemen to resign Their post; but theirs is merely a chimera, For they have passed Life's equinoctial line: But then they have their claret and Madeira, To irrigate the dryness of decline; And County meetings, and the Parliament, And debt—and what not, for their solace sent.

VI.

And is there not Religion, and Reform, Peace, War, the taxes, and what's called the "Nation"? The struggle to be pilots in a storm?[654] The landed and the monied speculation? The joys of mutual hate to keep them warm, Instead of Love, that mere hallucination? Now Hatred is by far the longest pleasure; Men love in haste, but they detest at leisure.

VII.

Rough Johnson, the great moralist, professed, Right honestly, "he liked an honest hater!"[655]— The only truth that yet has been confessed Within these latest thousand years or later. Perhaps the fine old fellow spoke in jest:— For my part, I am but a mere spectator, And gaze where'er the palace or the hovel is, Much in the mode of Goethe's Mephistopheles;

VIII.

But neither love nor hate in much excess; Though 't was not once so. If I sneer sometimes, It is because I cannot well do less, And now and then it also suits my rhymes. I should be very willing to redress Men's wrongs, and rather check than punish crimes, Had not Cervantes, in that too true tale Of Quixote, shown how all such efforts fail.

IX.[656]

Of all tales 't is the saddest—and more sad, Because it makes us smile: his hero's right, And still pursues the right;—to curb the bad His only object, and 'gainst odds to fight His guerdon: 't is his virtue makes him mad! But his adventures form a sorry sight;— A sorrier still is the great moral taught By that real Epic unto all who have thought.[lx]

X.

Redressing injury, revenging wrong, To aid the damsel and destroy the caitiff; Opposing singly the united strong, From foreign yoke to free the helpless native:— Alas! must noblest views, like an old song, Be for mere Fancy's sport a theme creative, A jest, a riddle, Fame through thin and thick sought! And Socrates himself but Wisdom's Quixote?

XI.

Cervantes smiled Spain's chivalry away; A single laugh demolished the right arm Of his own country;—seldom since that day Has Spain had heroes. While Romance could charm, The World gave ground before her bright array; And therefore have his volumes done such harm, That all their glory, as a composition, Was dearly purchased by his land's perdition.

XII.

I'm "at my old lunes"[657]—digression, and forget The Lady Adeline Amundeville; The fair most fatal Juan ever met, Although she was not evil nor meant ill; But Destiny and Passion spread the net (Fate is a good excuse for our own will), And caught them;—what do they not catch, methinks? But I'm not Oedipus, and Life's a Sphinx.

XIII.

I tell the tale as it is told, nor dare To venture a solution: "Davus sum!"[658] And now I will proceed upon the pair. Sweet Adeline, amidst the gay World's hum, Was the Queen-Bee, the glass of all that's fair; Whose charms made all men speak, and women dumb. The last's a miracle, and such was reckoned, And since that time there has not been a second.

XIV.

Chaste was she, to Detraction's desperation, And wedded unto one she had loved well— A man known in the councils of the Nation, Cool, and quite English, imperturbable, Though apt to act with fire upon occasion, Proud of himself and her: the World could tell Nought against either, and both seemed secure— She in her virtue, he in his hauteur.

XV.

It chanced some diplomatical relations, Arising out of business, often brought Himself and Juan in their mutual stations Into close contact. Though reserved, nor caught By specious seeming, Juan's youth, and patience, And talent, on his haughty spirit wrought, And formed a basis of esteem, which ends In making men what Courtesy calls friends.

XVI.

And thus Lord Henry, who was cautious as Reserve and Pride could make him, and full slow In judging men—when once his judgment was Determined, right or wrong, on friend or foe, Had all the pertinacity Pride has, Which knows no ebb to its imperious flow, And loves or hates, disdaining to be guided, Because its own good pleasure hath decided.

XVII.

His friendships, therefore, and no less aversions, Though oft well founded, which confirmed but more His prepossessions, like the laws of Persians And Medes, would ne'er revoke what went before. His feelings had not those strange fits, like tertians, Of common likings, which make some deplore What they should laugh at—the mere ague still Of men's regard, the fever or the chill.

XVIII.

"'T is not in mortals to command success:"[659] But do you more, Sempronius—don't deserve it, And take my word, you won't have any less. Be wary, watch the time, and always serve it; Give gently way, when there's too great a press; And for your conscience, only learn to nerve it; For, like a racer, or a boxer training, 'T will make, if proved, vast efforts without paining.

XIX.

Lord Henry also liked to be superior, As most men do, the little or the great; The very lowest find out an inferior, At least they think so, to exert their state Upon: for there are very few things wearier Than solitary Pride's oppressive weight, Which mortals generously would divide, By bidding others carry while they ride.

XX.

In birth, in rank, in fortune likewise equal, O'er Juan he could no distinction claim; In years he had the advantage of Time's sequel; And, as he thought, in country much the same— Because bold Britons have a tongue and free quill, At which all modern nations vainly aim; And the Lord Henry was a great debater, So that few Members kept the House up later.

XXI.

These were advantages: and then he thought— It was his foible, but by no means sinister— That few or none more than himself had caught Court mysteries, having been himself a minister: He liked to teach that which he had been taught, And greatly shone whenever there had been a stir; And reconciled all qualities which grace man, Always a patriot—and, sometimes, a placeman.

XXII.

He liked the gentle Spaniard for his gravity; He almost honoured him for his docility; Because, though young, he acquiesced with suavity, Or contradicted but with proud humility. He knew the World, and would not see depravity In faults which sometimes show the soil's fertility, If that the weeds o'erlive not the first crop— For then they are very difficult to stop.

XXIII.

And then he talked with him about Madrid, Constantinople, and such distant places; Where people always did as they were bid, Or did what they should not with foreign graces. Of coursers also spake they: Henry rid Well, like most Englishmen, and loved the races; And Juan, like a true-born Andalusian, Could back[660] a horse, as Despots ride a Russian.

XXIV.

And thus acquaintance grew, at noble routs, And diplomatic dinners, or at other— For Juan stood well both with Ins and Outs, As in freemasonry a higher brother. Upon his talent Henry had no doubts; His manner showed him sprung from a high mother, And all men like to show their hospitality To him whose breeding matches with his quality.

XXV.

At Blank-Blank Square;—for we will break no squares[661] By naming streets: since men are so censorious, And apt to sow an author's wheat with tares, Reaping allusions private and inglorious, Where none were dreamt of, unto Love's affairs, Which were, or are, or are to be notorious, That therefore do I previously declare, Lord Henry's mansion was in Blank-Blank Square.

XXVI.

Also there bin[662] another pious reason For making squares and streets anonymous; Which is, that there is scarce a single season Which doth not shake some very splendid house With some slight heart-quake of domestic treason— A topic Scandal doth delight to rouse: Such I might stumble over unawares, Unless I knew the very chastest squares.

XXVII.

'T is true, I might have chosen Piccadilly,[663] A place where peccadillos are unknown; But I have motives, whether wise or silly, For letting that pure sanctuary alone. Therefore I name not square, street, place, until I Find one where nothing naughty can be shown, A vestal shrine of Innocence of Heart: Such are—but I have lost the London Chart.

XXVIII.

At Henry's mansion then, in Blank-Blank Square, Was Juan a recherche, welcome guest, As many other noble scions were; And some who had but Talent for their crest; Or Wealth, which is a passport everywhere; Or even mere Fashion, which indeed's the best Recommendation; and to be well dressed Will very often supersede the rest.

XXIX.

And since "there's safety in a multitude Of counsellors," as Solomon has said, Or some one for him, in some sage, grave mood;— Indeed we see the daily proof displayed In Senates, at the Bar, in wordy feud, Where'er collective wisdom can parade, Which is the only cause that we can guess Of Britain's present wealth and happiness;—

XXX.

But as "there's safety" grafted in the number "Of counsellors," for men,—thus for the sex A large acquaintance lets not Virtue slumber; Or should it shake, the choice will more perplex— Variety itself will more encumber.[ly] 'Midst many rocks we guard more against wrecks— And thus with women: howsoe'er it shocks some's Self-love, there's safety in a crowd of coxcombs.

XXXI.

But Adeline had not the least occasion For such a shield, which leaves but little merit To Virtue proper, or good education. Her chief resource was in her own high spirit, Which judged Mankind at their due estimation; And for coquetry, she disdained to wear it— Secure of admiration: its impression Was faint—as of an every-day possession.

XXXII.

To all she was polite without parade; To some she showed attention of that kind Which flatters, but is flattery conveyed In such a sort as cannot leave behind A trace unworthy either wife or maid;— A gentle, genial courtesy of mind,[lz] To those who were, or passed for meritorious, Just to console sad Glory for being glorious;

XXXIII.

Which is in all respects, save now and then, A dull and desolate appendage. Gaze Upon the shades of those distinguished men Who were or are the puppet-shows of praise, The praise of persecution. Gaze again On the most favoured; and amidst the blaze Of sunset halos o'er the laurel-browed, What can ye recognise?—a gilded cloud.

XXXIV.

There also was of course in Adeline That calm patrician polish in the address, Which ne'er can pass the equinoctial line Of anything which Nature would express; Just as a Mandarin finds nothing fine,— At least his manner suffers not to guess, That anything he views can greatly please: Perhaps we have borrowed this from the Chinese—[ma]

XXXV.

Perhaps from Horace: his "Nil admirari" Was what he called the "Art of Happiness"— An art on which the artists greatly vary, And have not yet attained to much success. However, 't is expedient to be wary: Indifference, certes, don't produce distress; And rash Enthusiasm in good society Were nothing but a moral inebriety.

XXXVI.

But Adeline was not indifferent: for (Now for a common-place!) beneath the snow, As a Volcano holds the lava more Within—et caetera. Shall I go on?—No! I hate to hunt down a tired metaphor, So let the often-used Volcano go. Poor thing! How frequently, by me and others, It hath been stirred up till its smoke quite smothers!

XXXVII.

I'll have another figure in a trice:— What say you to a bottle of champagne? Frozen into a very vinous ice, Which leaves few drops of that immortal rain, Yet in the very centre, past all price, About a liquid glassful will remain; And this is stronger than the strongest grape Could e'er express in its expanded shape:

XXXVIII.

'T is the whole spirit brought to a quintessence; And thus the chilliest aspects may concentre A hidden nectar under a cold presence.[mb] And such are many—though I only meant her From whom I now deduce these moral lessons, On which the Muse has always sought to enter. And your cold people are beyond all price, When once you've broken their confounded ice.

XXXIX.

But after all they are a North-West Passage Unto the glowing India of the soul; And as the good ships sent upon that message Have not exactly ascertained the Pole (Though Parry's efforts look a lucky presage),[mc] Thus gentlemen may run upon a shoal; For if the Pole's not open, but all frost (A chance still), 't is a voyage or vessel lost.

XL.

And young beginners may as well commence With quiet cruising o'er the ocean, Woman; While those who are not beginners should have sense Enough to make for port, ere Time shall summon With his grey signal-flag; and the past tense, The dreary Fuimus of all things human, Must be declined, while Life's thin thread's spun out Between the gaping heir and gnawing gout.

XLI.

But Heaven must be diverted; its diversion Is sometimes truculent—but never mind: The World upon the whole is worth the assertion (If but for comfort) that all things are kind: And that same devilish doctrine of the Persian,[664] Of the "Two Principles," but leaves behind As many doubts as any other doctrine Has ever puzzled Faith withal, or yoked her in,

XLII.

The English winter—ending in July, To recommence in August—now was done. 'T is the postilion's paradise: wheels fly; On roads, East, South, North, West, there is a run. But for post-horses who finds sympathy? Man's pity's for himself, or for his son, Always premising that said son at college Has not contracted much more debt than knowledge.

XLIII.

The London winter's ended in July— Sometimes a little later. I don't err In this: whatever other blunders lie Upon my shoulders, here I must aver My Muse a glass of Weatherology; For Parliament is our barometer: Let Radicals its other acts attack, Its sessions form our only almanack.

XLIV.

When its quicksilver's down at zero,—lo! Coach, chariot, luggage, baggage, equipage! Wheels whirl from Carlton Palace to Soho, And happiest they who horses can engage; The turnpikes glow with dust; and Rotten Row Sleeps from the chivalry of this bright age; And tradesmen, with long bills and longer faces, Sigh—as the postboys fasten on the traces.

XLV.

They and their bills, "Arcadians both,"[665] are left To the Greek Kalends of another session. Alas! to them of ready cash bereft, What hope remains? Of hope the full possession, Or generous draft, conceded as a gift, At a long date—till they can get a fresh one— Hawked about at a discount, small or large; Also the solace of an overcharge.

XLVI.

But these are trifles. Downward flies my Lord, Nodding beside my Lady in his carriage. Away! away! "Fresh horses!" are the word, And changed as quickly as hearts after marriage; The obsequious landlord hath the change restored; The postboys have no reason to disparage Their fee; but ere the watered wheels may hiss hence, The ostler pleads too for a reminiscence.

XLVII.

'T is granted; and the valet mounts the dickey— That gentleman of Lords and Gentlemen; Also my Lady's gentlewoman, tricky, Tricked out, but modest more than poet's pen Can paint,—"Cosi viaggino i Ricchi!"[666] (Excuse a foreign slipslop now and then, If but to show I've travelled: and what's Travel, Unless it teaches one to quote and cavil?)

XLVIII.

The London winter and the country summer Were well nigh over. 'T is perhaps a pity, When Nature wears the gown that doth become her, To lose those best months in a sweaty city, And wait until the nightingale grows dumber, Listening debates not very wise or witty, Ere patriots their true country can remember;— But there's no shooting (save grouse) till September.

XLIX.

I've done with my tirade. The World was gone; The twice two thousand, for whom Earth was made, Were vanished to be what they call alone— That is, with thirty servants for parade, As many guests, or more; before whom groan As many covers, duly, daily laid. Let none accuse old England's hospitality— Its quantity is but condensed to quality.

L.

Lord Henry and the Lady Adeline Departed like the rest of their compeers, The peerage, to a mansion very fine; The Gothic Babel of a thousand years. None than themselves could boast a longer line, Where Time through heroes and through beauties steers; And oaks as olden as their pedigree Told of their Sires—a tomb in every tree.

LI.

A paragraph in every paper told Of their departure—such is modern fame: 'T is pity that it takes no further hold Than an advertisement, or much the same; When, ere the ink be dry, the sound grows cold. The Morning Post was foremost to proclaim— "Departure, for his country seat, to-day, Lord H. Amundeville and Lady A.

LII.

"We understand the splendid host intends[md] To entertain, this autumn, a select And numerous party of his noble friends; 'Midst whom we have heard, from sources quite correct, The Duke of D—— the shooting season spends, With many more by rank and fashion decked; Also a foreigner of high condition, The envoy of the secret Russian mission."

LIII.

And thus we see—who doubts the Morning Post? (Whose articles are like the "Thirty-nine," Which those most swear to who believe them most)— Our gay Russ Spaniard was ordained to shine, Decked by the rays reflected from his host, With those who, Pope says, "greatly daring dine."—[667] 'T is odd, but true,—last war the News abounded More with these dinners than the killed or wounded;—

LIV.

As thus: "On Thursday there was a grand dinner; Present, Lords A.B.C."—- Earls, dukes, by name Announced with no less pomp than Victory's winner: Then underneath, and in the very same Column: date, "Falmouth. There has lately been here The Slap-dash regiment, so well known to Fame, Whose loss in the late action we regret: The vacancies are filled up—see Gazette."

LV.

To Norman Abbey[668] whirled the noble pair,— An old, old Monastery once, and now Still older mansion—of a rich and rare Mixed Gothic, such as artists all allow Few specimens yet left us can compare Withal: it lies, perhaps, a little low, Because the monks preferred a hill behind, To shelter their devotion from the wind.

LVI.

It stood embosomed in a happy valley, Crowned by high woodlands, where the Druid oak[669] Stood like Caractacus, in act to rally His host, with broad arms 'gainst the thunder-stroke; And from beneath his boughs were seen to sally The dappled foresters; as Day awoke, The branching stag swept down with all his herd, To quaff a brook which murmured like a bird.

LVII.

Before the mansion lay a lucid Lake,[670] Broad as transparent, deep, and freshly fed By a river, which its softened way did take In currents through the calmer water spread Around: the wildfowl nestled in the brake And sedges, brooding in their liquid bed: The woods[671] sloped downwards to its brink, and stood With their green faces fixed upon the flood.

LVIII.

Its outlet dashed into a deep cascade, Sparkling with foam, until again subsiding, Its shriller echoes—like an infant made[me] Quiet—sank into softer ripples, gliding Into a rivulet; and thus allayed, Pursued its course, now gleaming, and now hiding Its windings through the woods; now clear, now blue, According as the skies their shadows threw.

LIX.

A glorious remnant of the Gothic pile (While yet the Church was Rome's) stood half apart In a grand Arch, which once screened many an aisle. These last had disappeared—a loss to Art: The first yet frowned superbly o'er the soil, And kindled feelings in the roughest heart, Which mourned the power of Time's or Tempest's march, In gazing on that venerable Arch.[mf]

LX.

Within a niche, nigh to its pinnacle, Twelve Saints had once stood sanctified in stone; But these had fallen, not when the friars fell, But in the war which struck Charles from his throne, When each house was a fortalice—as tell The annals of full many a line undone,— The gallant Cavaliers,[672] who fought in vain For those who knew not to resign or reign.

LXI.

But in a higher niche, alone, but crowned, The Virgin-Mother of the God-born Child, With her Son in her blessed arms, looked round, Spared by some chance when all beside was spoiled: She made the earth below seem holy ground. This may be superstition, weak or wild; But even the faintest relics of a shrine Of any worship wake some thoughts divine.

LXII.

A mighty window, hollow in the centre, Shorn of its glass of thousand colourings, Through which the deepened glories once could enter, Streaming from off the Sun like Seraph's wings, Now yawns all desolate: now loud, now fainter, The gale sweeps through its fretwork, and oft sings The owl his anthem, where the silenced quire Lie with their Hallelujahs quenched like fire.

LXIII.

But in the noontide of the moon, and when[mg] The wind is winged from one point of heaven, There moans a strange unearthly sound, which then Is musical—a dying accent driven Through the huge Arch, which soars and sinks again. Some deem it but the distant echo given Back to the night wind by the waterfall, And harmonised by the old choral wall:

LXIV.

Others, that some original shape, or form Shaped by decay perchance, hath given the power (Though less than that of Memnon's statue,[673] warm In Egypt's rays, to harp at a fixed hour) To this grey ruin: with a voice to charm, Sad, but serene, it sweeps o'er tree or tower; The cause I know not, nor can solve; but such The fact:—I've heard it,—once perhaps too much.[674]

LXV.

Amidst the court a Gothic fountain played, Symmetrical, but decked with carvings quaint— Strange faces, like to men in masquerade, And here perhaps a monster, there a saint: The spring gushed through grim mouths of granite made, And sparkled into basins, where it spent Its little torrent in a thousand bubbles, Like man's vain Glory, and his vainer troubles.

LXVI.

The Mansion's self was vast and venerable, With more of the monastic than has been Elsewhere preserved: the cloisters still were stable, The cells, too, and Refectory, I ween: An exquisite small chapel had been able, Still unimpaired, to decorate the scene; The rest had been reformed, replaced, or sunk, And spoke more of the baron than the monk.

LXVII.

Huge halls, long galleries, spacious chambers, joined By no quite lawful marriage of the arts, Might shock a connoisseur; but when combined, Formed a whole which, irregular in parts, Yet left a grand impression on the mind, At least of those whose eyes are in their hearts: We gaze upon a giant for his stature, Nor judge at first if all be true to nature.

LXVIII.

Steel Barons, molten the next generation To silken rows of gay and gartered Earls, Glanced from the walls in goodly preservation: And Lady Marys blooming into girls, With fair long locks, had also kept their station: And Countesses mature in robes and pearls: Also some beauties of Sir Peter Lely, Whose drapery hints we may admire them freely.

LXIX.

Judges in very formidable ermine Were there, with brows that did not much invite The accused to think their lordships would determine His cause by leaning much from might to right: Bishops, who had not left a single sermon; Attorneys-general, awful to the sight, As hinting more (unless our judgments warp us) Of the "Star Chamber" than of "Habeas Corpus."

LXX.

Generals, some all in armour, of the old And iron time, ere lead had ta'en the lead; Others in wigs of Marlborough's martial fold, Huger than twelve of our degenerate breed:[mh] Lordlings, with staves of white or keys of gold: Nimrods, whose canvas scarce contained the steed; And, here and there, some stern high patriot stood, Who could not get the place for which he sued.

LXXI.

But ever and anon, to soothe your vision, Fatigued with these hereditary glories, There rose a Carlo Dolce or a Titian, Or wilder group of savage Salvatore's:[675] Here danced Albano's boys, and here the sea shone In Vernet's ocean lights; and there the stories Of martyrs awed, as Spagnoletto tainted His brush with all the blood of all the sainted.

LXXII.

Here sweetly spread a landscape of Lorraine; There Rembrandt made his darkness equal light, Or gloomy Caravaggio's gloomier stain Bronzed o'er some lean and stoic anchorite:— But, lo! a Teniers woos, and not in vain, Your eyes to revel in a livelier sight: His bell-mouthed goblet makes me feel quite Danish[676] Or Dutch with thirst—What, ho! a flask of Rhenish.[mi]

LXXIII.

Oh, reader! if that thou canst read,—and know, 'T is not enough to spell, or even to read, To constitute a reader—there must go Virtues of which both you and I have need;— Firstly, begin with the beginning—(though That clause is hard); and secondly, proceed: Thirdly, commence not with the end—or, sinning In this sort, end at last with the beginning.

LXXIV.

But, reader, thou hast patient been of late, While I, without remorse of rhyme, or fear, Have built and laid out ground at such a rate, Dan Phoebus takes me for an auctioneer. That Poets were so from their earliest date, By Homer's "Catalogue of ships" is clear; But a mere modern must be moderate— I spare you then the furniture and plate.

LXXV.

The mellow Autumn came, and with it came The promised party, to enjoy its sweets. The corn is cut, the manor full of game; The pointer ranges, and the sportsman beats In russet jacket:—lynx-like in his aim; Full grows his bag, and wonderful his feats. Ah, nutbrown partridges! Ah, brilliant pheasants! And ah, ye poachers!—'T is no sport for peasants.

LXXVI.

An English Autumn, though it hath no vines, Blushing with Bacchant coronals along The paths o'er which the far festoon entwines The red grape in the sunny lands of song, Hath yet a purchased choice of choicest wines;[mj] The Claret light, and the Madeira strong. If Britain mourn her bleakness, we can tell her, The very best of vineyards is the cellar.

LXXVII.

Then, if she hath not that serene decline Which makes the southern Autumn's day appear As if 't would to a second Spring resign The season, rather than to Winter drear,— Of in-door comforts still she hath a mine,— The sea-coal fires,[677] the "earliest of the year;"[678] Without doors, too, she may compete in mellow, As what is lost in green is gained in yellow.

LXXVIII.

And for the effeminate villeggialura— Rife with more horns than hounds—she hath the chase, So animated that it might allure a Saint from his beads to join the jocund race: Even Nimrod's self might leave the plains of Dura,[679] And wear the Melton jacket for a space: If she hath no wild boars, she hath a tame Preserve of bores, who ought to be made game.[mk]

LXXIX.

The noble guests,[680] assembled at the Abbey, Consisted of—we give the sex the pas— The Duchess of Fitz-Fulke; the Countess Crabby;[ml][681] The Ladies Scilly, Busey;—Miss Eclat, Miss Bombazeen, Miss Mackstay, Miss O'Tabby, And Mrs. Rabbi,[682] the rich banker's squaw; Also the honourable Mrs. Sleep, Who looked a white lamb, yet was a black sheep:

LXXX.

With other Countesses of Blank—but rank; At once the "lie"[683] and the elite of crowds; Who pass like water filtered in a tank, All purged and pious from their native clouds; Or paper turned to money by the Bank: No matter how or why, the passport shrouds The passee and the past; for good society Is no less famed for tolerance than piety,—

LXXXI.

That is, up to a certain point; which point Forms the most difficult in punctuation. Appearances appear to form the joint On which it hinges in a higher station; And so that no explosion cry "Aroint Thee, witch!"[684] or each Medea has her Jason; Or (to the point with Horace and with Pulci)[mm] "Omne tulit punctum, quae miscuit utile dulci."[685]

LXXXII.

I can't exactly trace their rule of right, Which hath a little leaning to a lottery. I've seen a virtuous woman put down quite By the mere combination of a coterie; Also a so-so matron boldly fight Her way back to the world by dint of plottery,[mn] And shine the very Siria,[686] of the spheres, Escaping with a few slight, scarless sneers.

LXXXIII.

I have seen more than I'll say:—but we will see[mo] How our "villeggiatura" will get on. The party might consist of thirty-three Of highest caste—the Brahmins of the ton. I have named a few, not foremost in degree, But ta'en at hazard as the rhyme may run. By way of sprinkling, scattered amongst these, There also were some Irish absentees.

LXXXIV.

There was Parolles,[687] too, the legal bully,[mp] Who limits all his battles to the Bar And Senate: when invited elsewhere, truly, He shows more appetite for words than war. There was the young bard Rackrhyme, who had newly Come out and glimmered as a six weeks' star. There was Lord Pyrrho, too, the great freethinker; And Sir John Pottledeep, the mighty drinker.

LXXXV.

There was the Duke of Dash,[688] who was a—duke, "Aye, every inch a" duke; there were twelve peers Like Charlemagne's—and all such peers in look And intellect, that neither eyes nor ears For commoners had ever them mistook. There were the six Miss Rawbolds—pretty dears! All song and sentiment; whose hearts were set Less on a convent than a coronet.

LXXXVI.

There were four Honourable Misters, whose Honour was more before their names than after; There was the preux Chevalier de la Ruse,[689] Whom France and Fortune lately deigned to waft here, Whose chiefly harmless talent was to amuse; But the clubs found it rather serious laughter, Because—such was his magic power to please— The dice seemed charmed, too, with his repartees.

LXXXVII.

There was Dick Dubious,[690] the metaphysician, Who loved philosophy and a good dinner; Angle, the soi-disant mathematician; Sir Henry Silvercup, the great race-winner. There was the Reverend Rodomont Precisian, Who did not hate so much the sin as sinner: And Lord Augustus Fitz-Plantagenet, Good at all things, but better at a bet.