LXXXV.

O Mrs. Fry! Why go to Newgate? Why

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Preach to poor rogues? Aud wherefore not begin

With Carlton, or with other houses? Try

Your hand at harden'd and imperial sin.

To mend the people's an absurdity,
A jargon, a mere philanthropic din,
Unless you make your betters better:-Fie!
I thought you had more religion, Mrs. Fry.

LXXXVI.

Teach them the decencies of good threescore:

Cure them of tours, hussar and highland dresses: Tell them that youth once gone returns no more; That hir'd huzzas redeem uo land's distresses; Tell them Sir William Curtis is a bore,

Too dull even for the dullest of excesses, The witless Falstaff of a hoary Hal,

A fool whose bells have ceas'd to ring at all.

LXXXVII.

Tell them, though it may be perhaps too late
On life's worn confine, jaded, bloated, sated,
To set up vain pretences of being great,
'Tis not so to be good; and be it stated,

The worthiest kings have ever lov'd least state;

And tell them- -But you won't, and I have prated Just now enough; but by and by I'll prattle,

Like Roland's horn in Roncesvalles' battle.

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Don Juan.

CANTO THE ELEVENTH.

I.

WHEN Bishop Berkeley said "there was no matter,"
And prov'dit-'t was no matter what he said:
They say his system 'tis in vain to batter,
Too subtle for the airiest human head;
And yet who can believe it? I would shatter
Gladly all matters down to stone or lead,
Or adamant, to find the world a spirit,
And wear my head, denying that I wear it.

II.

What a sublime discovery t'was to make the
Universe universal egotism!

That all 's ideal-all ourselves: I'll stake the

World (be it what you will) that that's no schism. O Doubt!-if thou be'st Doubt, for which some take thee, But which I doubt extremely-thou sole prism Of the Truth's rays, spoil not my draught of spirit! Heaven's brandy, though our brain can hardly bear it.

III.

For, ever and anon, comes Indigestion,

(Not the most "dainty Ariel") and perplexes
Our soarings with another sort of question:
And that which, after all, my spirit vexes,

Is, that I find no spot where man can rest eye on,
Without confusion of the sorts and sexes,

Of beings, stars, and this unriddled wonder,

The world, which at the worst's a glorious blunder,

IV.

If it be chance; or if it be according

To the old text, still better:-lest it should
Turn out so, we'll say nothing 'gainst the wording,
As several people think such hazards rude.

They're right; our days are too brief for affording
Space to dispute what no one ever could

Decide, and every body one day will

Know very clearly-or at least lie still.

T

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V.

And therefore will I leave off metaphysical
Discussion, which is neither here not there:
If I agree that what is, is; then this I call

Being quite perspicuous and extremely fair:
The truth is, I've grown lately rather phthisical;
I don't know what the reason is-the air,
Perhaps; but, as I suffer from the shocks
Of illness, I grow much more orthodox.
VI.

The first attack at once prov'd the Divinity;
(But that I never doubted, nor the Devil);
The next, the Virgin's mystical virginity:
The third, the usual Origin of Evil:

The fourth at once establish'd the whole Trinity,
On so incontrovertible a level,

That I devoutly wish'd the three were four,

On purpose to believe so much the more.

VII.

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To our theme:-The man who has stood on the Acropolis, 7
And look'd down over Attica; or he

Who has sail'd where picturesque Constantinople is,
Or seen Timbuctoo, or hath taken tea

In small-ey'd China's crockery-ware metropolis,
Or sat amidst the bricks of Nineveh,

May not think much of London's first appearance
But ask him what he thinks of it a year hence.

VIII.

Don Juan had got out on Shooter's Hill;

Sunset the time, the place the same declivity

Which looks along that vale of good and ill

Where London streets ferment in full activity;

While every thing around was calm and still,

Except the creak of wheels, which on their pivot he
Heard, and that bee-like, bubbling, busy hum
Of cities, that boil over with their scum :-

IX.

I say, Don Juan, wrapt in contemplation,
Walk'd on behind his carriage, o'er the summit

And lost in wonder of so great a nation,

;

Gave way to 't, since he could not overcome it.
"And here," he cried "is Freedom's chosen station:

Here peals the people's voice, nor can entomb it
Racks, prisons, inquisitions; resurrection
Awaits it, each new meeting or election.

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X.

"Here are chaste wives, pure lives; here people pay But what they please; and, if that things be dear, 'Tis only that they love to throw away

Their cash, to show how much they have a-year. Here laws are all inviolate; none lay

Traps for the traveller; every highway's clear: Here" he was interrupted by a knife,

With-"Damn your eyes! your money or your life!"

XI.

These freeborn sounds proceeded from four pads,
In ambush laid, who had perceiv'd him loiter
Behind his carriage; and, like handy lads,

Had seiz'd the lucky hour to reconnoitre,
In which the heedless gentleman who gads
Upon the road, unless he prove a fighter,
May find himself, within that isle of riches,
Expos'd to lose his life as well as breeches.

XII.

Juan, who did not understand a word

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Of English, save their shibboleth, "God damn!"

And even that he had so rarely heard,

He sometimes thought 'twas only their " Salam," Or "God be with you!" and 'tis not absurd

To think so: for, half English as I am,

(To my misfortune) never can I say

Ì heard them wish "God with you," save that way :

XIII.

Juan yet quickly understood their gesture;
And, being somewhat choleric and sudden,
Drew forth a pocket pistol from his vesture,
And fir'd it into one assailant's pudding-
Who fell, as rolls an ox o'er in his pasture,

And roar'd out, as he writh'd his native mud in,
Unto his nearest follower or henchman,

'O Jack! I'm floor'd by that 'ere bloody Frenchman!"

XIV.

On which Jack and his train set off at speed;
And Juan's suite, late scatter'd at a distance,
Came up, all marvelling at such a deed,
And offering, as usual, late assistance.

Juan, who saw the moon's late minion bleed

As if his veins would pour out his existence,

Stood calling out for bandages and lint,

And wish'd he had been less hasty with his flint.

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XV.

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"Perhaps," thought he, "it is the country's wont
To welcome foreigners in this way: now
I recollect some innkeepers who don't

Differ, except in robbing with a bow,
In lieu of a bare blade and brazen front.
But what is to be done? I can't allow
The fellow to lie groaning on the road:
So take him up; I'll help you with the load."

XVI.

But ere they could perform this pious duty,

The dying man cried, " Hold! I've got my gruel!
Oh! for a glass of max! We've miss'd our booty;
Let me die where I am!" And, as the fuel
Of life shrunk in his heart, and thick and sooty

The drops fell from his death-wound, and he drew ill
His breath,-he from his swelling throat untied
A kerchief, crying, "Give Sal that!"-and died.

XVII.

The cravat, stain'd with bloody drops fell down
Before Don Juan's feet: he could not tell

Exactly why it was before him thrown,

Nor what the meaning of the man's farewell.
Poor Tom was once a kiddy upon town,
A thorough varmint, and a real swell,
Full flash, all fancy, until fairly diddled,
His pockets first, and then his body, riddled.

XVIII.

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Don Juan, having done the best he could

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In all the circumstances of the case,

As soon as " Crowner's quest" allow'd, pursued
His travels to the capital apace;-

Esteeming it a little hard he should

In twelve hours' time, and very little space,
Have been oblig'd to slay a freeborn native
In self-defence: this made him meditative.

ΧΙΧ.

He from the world had cut off a great man,
Who, in his time, had made heroic bustle.
Who, in a row, like Tom could lead the van,
Booze in the ken, or at the spellken hustle?
Who queer a flat? Who (spite of Bow-street's ban)
On the high toby-spice so flash the muzzle?
Who, on a lark, with black-ey'd Sal (his blowing),
So prime, so swell, so nutty, and so knowing?

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