Alas! by all experience, seldom yet
(I merely quote what I have heard from many) Had lovers not some reason to regret
The passion which made Solomon a zany.
I've also seen some wives (not to forget
The marriage state, the best or worst of any)
Who were the very paragons of wives,
Yet made the misery of at least two lives.
I've also seen some female friends ('tis odd,
But true-as, if expedient, I could prove)
That faithful were, through thick and thin, abroad,
At home, far more than ever yet was Love-
Who did not quit me when Oppression trod
Upon me; whom no scandal could remove:
Who fought, and fight, in absence, too, my battles,
Despite the snake Society's loud rattles.
Whether Don Juan and chaste Adeline
Grew friends, in this or any other sense,
Will be discuss'd hereafter, I opine:
At present I am glad of a pretence
To leave them hovering, as the effect is fine,
And keeps the atrocious reader in suspense;
The surest way for ladies and for books,
To bait their tender, or their tenter, hooks.
Whether they rode, or walk'd, or studied Spanish,
To read Don Quixote in the original,
A pleasure before which all others vanish:
Whether their talk was of the kind call'd "small," Or serious, are the topics I must banish
To the next Canto; where perhaps I shall Say something to the purpose, and display Considerable talent in my way.
Above all, I beg all men to forbear
Anticipating aught about the matter.
They'll only make mistakes about the fair,
And Juan, too, especially the latter.
And I shall take a much more serious air,
Than I have yet done, in this epic satire.
It is not clear that Adeline and Juan
Will fall; but if they do, 'twill be their ruin.
But great things spring from little :-Would you think
That, in our youth, as dangerous a passion
As e'er brought man and woman to the brink
Of ruin, rose from such a slight occasion,
As few would ever dream could form the link
Of such a sentimental situation?
You'll never guess, I'll bet you millions, milliards-
It all sprung from a harmless game at billiards.
'Tis strange, but true: for truth is always strange; 101 Stranger than fiction: if it could be told,
How much would novels gain by the exchange!
How differently the world would men behold!
How oft would vice and virtue places change!
The new world would be nothing to the old,
If some Columbus of the moral seas
Would show mankind their souls' antipodes.
What "antres vast and deserts idle" then
Would be discover'd in the human soul!
What icebergs in the hearts of mighty men,
With self-love in the centre, as their pole!
What Anthropophagi are nine of ten
Of those who hold the kingdoms in control!
Were things but only call'd by their right name,
Cæsar himself would be asham'd of fame.
AH!-What should follow, slips from my reflection:
Whatever follows ne'ertheless may be
As â-propos of hope or retrospection,
As though the lurking thought had follow'd free, All present life is but an interjection,
An "Oh!" or "Ah!" of joy or misery,
Or a "Ha! ha!" or "Bah !"-a yawn, or "Pooh !"
Of which perhaps the latter is most true.
But, more or less, the whole's a syncopé
Or a singultus-emblems of emotion,
The grand antithesis to great ennui,
Wherewith we break our bubbles on the ocean,
That watery outline of eternity,
Or miniature, at least, as in my notion, Which ministers unto the soul's delight, In seeing matters which are out of sight.
But all are better than the sigh supprest,
Corroding in the cavern of the heart,
Making the countenance a mask of rest,
And turning human nature to an art.
Few men dare show their thoughts of worst or best:
Dissimulation always sets apart
A corner for herself; and therefore fiction
Is that which passes with least contradiction.
Ah! who can tell? Or rather who can not,
Remember, without telling, passion's errors?
The drainer of oblivion, even the sot,
Hath got blue devils for his morning mirrors:
What though on Lethe's stream he seem to float,
He cannot sink his tremors or his terrors:
The ruby glass that shakes within his hand,
Leaves a sad sediment of Time's worst sand.
And as for love-O love!We will proceed.
The Lady Adeline Amundeville,
A pretty name as one would wish to read,
Must perch harmonious on my tuneful quill,
There's music in the sighing of a reed;
There's music in the gushing of a rill;
There's music in all things, if men had ears:
Their earth is but an echo of the spheres.
The Lady Adeline, right honourable,
And honour'd, ran a risk of growing less so: For few of the soft sex are very stable
In their resolves-alas! that I should say so! They differ as wine differs from its label,
When once decanted:-I presume to guess so,
But will not swear: yet both, upon occasion,
Till old, may undergo adulteration.
But Adeline was of the purest vintage,
The unmingled essence of the grape; and yet
Bright as a new Napoleon from its mintage:
Or glorious as a diamond richly set;
A page where Time should hesitate to print age,
And for which Nature might forego her debt-
Sole creditor whose process doth involve in't
The luck of finding every body solvent.
O Death! thou dunnest of all duns! thou daily
Knockest at doors, at first with modest tap,
Like a meek tradesman when, approaching palely,
Some splendid debtor he would take by sap:
But oft denied, as patience 'gins to fail, he
Advances with exasperated rap,
And (if let in) insists, in terms unhandsome,
On ready money, or "a draft on Ransom."
Whate'er thou takest, spare awhile poor Beauty!
She is so rare, and thou hast so much prey.
What though she now and then may slip from duty,
The more's the reason why you ought to stay.
Gaunt Gourmand! with whole nations for your booty,
You should be civil in a modest way:
Suppress, then, some slight feminine diseases;
And take as many heroes as Heaven pleases.
Fair Adeline, the more ingenuous
Where she was interested (as was said), Because she was not apt, like some of us, To like too readily, or too high bred
To show it-(points we need not now discuss)-
Would give up artlessly both heart and head
Unto such feelings as seem'd innocent,
For objects worthy of the sentiment,
Some parts of Juan's history, which Rumour,
That live-gazette, had scatter'd, to disfigure,
She had heard: but women hear with more good humour
Such aberrations, than we men of rigour :
Besides, his conduct, since in England, grew more
Strict, and his mind assum'd a manlier vigour ;
Because he had, like Alcibiades,
The art of living in all climes with ease,
His manner was, perhaps, the more seductive,
Because he ne'er seem'd anxious to seduce:
Nothing affected, studied, or constructive,
Of coxcombry or conquest: no abuse
Of his attractions marr'd the fair perspective,
To indicate a Cupidon broke loose,
And seem to say, "Resist us if you can"-
Which makes a dandy, while it spoils a man.
They are wrong-that's not the way to set about it;
As, if they told the truth, could well be shown;
But, right or wrong, Don Juan was without it:
In fact, his manner was his own alone.
Sincere he was at least you could not doubt it,
In listening merely to his voice's tone.
The devil hath not, in all his quiver's choice,
An arrow for the heart, like a sweet voice.
By nature soft, his whole address held off
Suspicion: though not timid, his regard
Was such as rather seem'd to keep aloof,
To shield himself, than put you on your guard:
Perhaps 'twas hardly quite assur'd enough,
But modesty's at times its own reward,
Like virtue; and the absence of pretension
Will go much farther than there's need to mention.
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