XXI. But to my story.'Twas some years ago, Were all kinds of buffoonery and dress; Her real name I know not, nor can guess, And so we'll call her Laura, if you please, Because it slips into my verse with ease. XXII. She was not old, nor young, nor at the Because I never heard, nor could engage A person yet by prayers, or bribes, or tears, To name, define by speech, or write on page, The period meant precisely by that word,Which surely is exceedingly absurd. XXIII. Laura was blooming still, had made the best Of time, and time returned the compliment, And treated her genteelly, so that, drest, She looked extremely well where'er she went : A pretty woman is a welcome guest, And Laura's brow a frown had rarely bent; Indeed she shone all smiles, and seemed to flatter Mankind with her black eyes for looking at her. XXIV. She was a married woman; 'tis convenient, To view their little slips with eyes more lenient; (Unless, within the period intervenient, A well-timed wedding makes the scandal cool) Her husband sailed upon the Adriatic, His name Giuseppe, called more briefly, Beppo (1). He was a man as dusky as a Spaniard, And she, although her mauners shewed no rigour, XXVII. But several years elapsed since they had met; And did not like the thoughts of steering home; And there were several offered any bet, Or that he would, or that he would not come, For most men (till by losing rendered sager) Will back their own opinions with a wager. (1) Beppo is the Joe of the Italian Joseph. XXVIII. "Tis said that their last parting was pathetic, Which I have known occur in two or three) XXIX. And Laura waited long, and wept a little, And thought of wearing weeds, as well she might; She almost lost all appetite for victual, And could not sleep with ease alone at night; She chose, (and what is there they will not choose, XXXI. And then he was a count, and then he knew Music and dancing, fiddling, French and Tuscan ; The last not easy, be it known to you, For few Italians speak the right Etruscan. He was a critic upon operas too, And knew all niceties of the sock and buskin; And no Venetian audience could endure a Song, scene, or air, when he cried « seccatura. » XXXII. His « bravo » was decisive, for that sound ་ તા Hushed a academie, » sighed in silent awe; The fiddlers trembled as he looked around, " For fear of some false note's detected flaw. XXXIII. He patroniz'd the Improvisatori, Nay, could himself extemporize some stanzas, Wrote rhymes, sang songs, could also tell a story, Sold pictures, and was skilful in the dance as Italians can be, though in this their glory Must surely yield the palm to that which France has; In short, he was a perfect cavaliero, And to his very valet seem'd a hero. XXXIV. Then he was faithful too, as well as amorous, His heart was one of those which most enamour us, Wax to receive, and marble to retain. He was a lover of the good old school, XXXV. No wonder such accomplishments should turn In law he was almost as good as dead; he And really if a man won't let us know Besides, within the Alps, to every woman And we may call this (not to say the worst) The word was formerly a «< Cicisbeo, » But that is now grown vulgar and indecent; The Spaniards call the person a Cortejo, » For the same mode subsists in Spain, though recent ; In short it reaches from the Po to Teio, And may perhaps at last be o'er the sea sent. But Heaven preserve Old England from such courses! Or what becomes of damage and divorces? XXXVIII. However, I still think, with all due deference |