Don Juan. CANTO THE NINTH. I. O, Wellington (or "Vilainton"-for Fame II. I don't think that you used Kinnaird quite well Upon the rest 'tis not worth while to dwell, Such tales being for the tea-hours of some tabby; III. Though Britain owes (and pays you too) so much, A prop not quite so certain as before: Have seen, and felt, how strongly you restore; And Waterloo has made the world your debtor(I wish your bards would sing it rather better). IV. You are "the best of cut-throats:"-do not start: The world, not the world's masters, will decide; And I shall be delighted to learn who, Save you and yours, have gain'd by Waterloo. 2 3 V. I am no flatterer-you've supp'd full of flattery: VI. I've done. Now go, and dine from off the plate A slice or two from your luxurious meals: Some hunger, too, they say the people feels: There is no doubt that you deserve your ration; But pray give back a little to the nation. VII. I don't mean to reflect-a man so great as You need not take them under your direction; Is rather dear!-I'm sure I mean no harm. VIII. Great men have always scorn'd great recompences: Not leaving even his funeral expenses: George Washington had thanks, and nought beside, IX. Never had mortal man such opportunity, You might have freed fall'n Europe from the unity And now-what is your fame ? Shall the Muse tune it ye? Now that the rabble's first vain shouts are o'er? Go! hear it in your famish'd country's cries! 5 6 8 9 X. As these new cantos touch on warlike feats, To you the unflattering Muse deigns to inscribe But which 'tis time to teach the hireling tribe XI. Death laughs-Go ponder o'er the skeleton Which still elsewhere may rouse a brighter spring- This hourly dread of all, whose threaten'd sting Turns life to terror, even though in its sheath: Mark! how its lipless mouth grins without breath! XII. Mark! how it laughs and scorns at all you are: It laughs not there is now no fleshy bar So call'd; the Antic long hath ceas'd to hear, He strips from man that mantle (far more dear XIII. And thus Death laughs;-it is sad merriment, Why should not Life be equally content Like bubbles on an ocean much less ample Suns as rays-worlds like atoms-years like hours? XIV. "To be, or not to be ? that is the question," 10 11 12 13 14 Says Shakespeare, who just now is much in fashion. I am neither Alexander nor Hephæstion, Nor ever had for abstract fame much passion; But would much rather have a sound digestion, Than Buonaparte's cancer: could I dash on Through fifty victories to shame or fame, Without a stomach-what were a good name? XV. 15 "Oh! dura ilia messorum!"-"Oh! XVI. "To be, or not to be ?"-Ere I decide, I should be glad to know that which is being: 'Tis true we speculate both far and wide, And deem, because we see, we are all-seeing: For my part, I'll enlist on neither side, Until I see both sides for once agreeing. For me, I sometimes think that life is death, Rather than life a mere affair of breath. XVII. 16 "Que sais-je ?" was the motto of Montaigne, As also of the first academicians: 17 That all is dubious which man may attain, There's no such thing as certainty, that's plain So little do we know what we're about in This world, I doubt if doubt itself be doubting. XVIII. It is a pleasant voyage, perhaps, to float, But what if carrying sail capsize the boat? Your wise men don't know much of navigation; And swimming long in the abyss of thought Is apt to tire: a calm and shallow station Well nigh the shore, where one stoops down and gathers Some pretty shell, is best for moderate bathers. XIX. "But heaven," as Cassio says, "is above all- 18 19 XX. O ye immortal Gods! what is theogony? Ŏ thou, too, mortal man! what is philanthropy? O world, which was and is! what is cosmogony? Some people have accus'd me of misanthropy; And yet I know no more than the mahogany That forms this desk, of what they mean: lykanthropy I comprehend; for, without transformation, Men become wolves on any slight occasion. XXI. But I, the mildest, meekest, of mankind, And (though I could not now and then forbear Have always had a tendency to spare, Why do they call me misanthrope? Because XXII. 'Tis time we should proceed with our good poem,-- Not only in the body, but the proem, Just now, but by and by the Truth will show 'em And till she doth, I fain must be content XXIII. Our hero (and, I trust, kind reader! yours,)- Of the immortal Peter's polish'd boors, 20 21 22 23 Who still have shown themselves more brave than witty. I know its mighty empire now allures Much flattery-even Voltaire's, and that's a pity: For me, I deem an absolute autocrat Not a barbarian, but much worse than that. XXIV. 24 And I will war, at least in words (and-should I know not who may conquer: if I could Have such a prescience, it should be no bar To this my plain, sworn, downright detestation Of every despotism in every nation. R |