III.

Now you, friend B. must own 'twas not quite right
To leave this pair in such a situation 1
At such an awful dang'rous hour of night,
Placing in jeopardy their reputation;
While critics, and eclectics, at the height
Of gaping, horrifying expectation,
Have long ago concluded, without doubt,
That Juan and Her Grace have-fallen out.

IV.

(Not with each other, reader, but much worse)
Out-of the bounds of virtuous propriety;
And that, of course, they must endure the curse
Of banishment from fashion's strict society-
Be sent to Coventry-that shameless nurse

Of ancient custom; putting our sobriety
And modesty to th' blush, since fam'd Godiva
The WARTON has of late outdone by far.

V.

For th' ancient dame sent forth a proclamation
That whosoe'er should dare to take a peep
Should suffer death, nor hope for commutation.
So, therefore, if their worldly goods they'd keep,
Or priz'd their bodies as their soul's salvation,

And would in comfort and a whole skin sleep,
They would, of course, most strictly keep within doors,
Barring the same, and dark'ning all their windores.2

VI.

Whereas, the modern Eve (so we are told 'tis),
When she, to personate the naked fair,

"'T was surely very wrong in Juan's mother
To leave together this imprudent pair."

Don Juan, canto i., stanza 110.

2 Ancient orthography admits this rhyme. Butler, in his "Hudibras," spells it "windores," and cockneys, to this day, pronounce it "vinders." Also, in all words in which aw occur, the said cockneys introduce an r-thus, for drawing, they read drorin: for straw, stror, etc. The Author has heard an F.R.S.

Resolv'd, she straightway issued forth a notice
That she, at such an hour, would be there
To ride sans culottes-perfecta nudatus:

And all who had a taste that way might stare!
She stifled all remonstrances at once

By answering, "Honi soit qui mal y pense."

VII.

And so, perhaps, thought the Duchess of Fitz-Fulke,
When she, on her adventure, rashly enter❜d,
Urg'd on by love-determin'd not to baulk

Her amorous freak-her thoughts in Juan centred,
She hoped her monkish cowl might safely walk
Without awaking scandal; so she ventur❜d.
What could the poor soul do ?-Her gouty Dukey
Was still laid up in London'-'twas unlucky.

pronounce in this way whenever such words occurred. Who will dispute such high authority? So in Jackson's Canzonet,

"Time has not thinn'd my flowing hair,

Nor bent me with his iron hand,

Ah why so soon, etc."

The cockney vocalist, in the simple conceit of his own perfection, converts this into

"Time as not thinn'd my flowin air,

Nor bent me vith is hi-er-un and,

Ar wy so soon, etc."

This reminds the Author of a witticism that was broached at a private theatre, in London, at the time the play of "Pizarro" was so popular. A little stage-struck hero, about five feet five inches in height, with long arms and very round shoulders, personated Rolla (looking more like an attempt at King Richard than the Peruvian hero), and in the address to the Peruvian soldiers, when he came to the line,

"The virtuous energies that swell your hearts,"

He, with much pomposity, gave it,

"The werchus enegees that swell your arts."

A provincial manager, who was there on the look-out for recruits, whispering to a friend, said, "Well, if there are any gees, it is more than you can say for the h's." The joke was quickly passed on to the celebrated Mrs. Jordan, who was in the next box, and who laid herself back on the seat behind, and indulged in an uproarious Ha, ha, ha! the occasion of which being reported to others, the laugh was echoed round the whole circle, to the great discomfiture of poor Rolla. 1 "Her Grace replied, His Grace was rather pain'd With some slight, light, hereditary twinges

Of gout, which rusts aristocratic hinges."

Don Juan, canto xvi., stanza 34.

VIII.

Here was a beautiful neglected wife

Left to herself, expos'd to such temptation; And Juan was a youth (upon my life),

Might tempt a saint, much more one in her station : Where fashion's rank diseases are so rife,

"Twere wonder to escape contamination.

Ye husbands-fools!-ne'er blame your faithless spouses, While ye neglect their comfort in your houses!

IX.

We know that prudes and moralists will cavil
At this last stanza, and exclaim, "Propriety
Should keep the wife at home; 'twould be but civil
That she should 'tend her spouse, nor seek satiety
In dissipation-while her husband is ill

How shameful to be courting notoriety."
À bas! ye barking curs, first ascertain

The Duke was not the first to break the chain.

X.

Like other nobles who have gone before,
Leaving their wives at home-to go in chase

Of some danseuse or operatic singer,

Who artfully may let herself on lease
To the rich fool for gold! himself no more

Valued than as he furnishes the fleece !

Our Duchess had known some of her Duke's tricks, (See stanza fifty, canto ten and six.)1

XI.

But to return.-Her Grace threw off disguise

In all her loveliness she stood confess'd
No ghost, but (to th' astonished Juan's eyes),
As real flesh and blood as e'er was dress'd

1 "Because, she said her temper had been tried
So much, the bard had really been prophetic
Of what she had gone through with since a bride."
Don Juan, canto 16, stanza 50.

"In silken sheen."-Her bosom's fall and rise
Seem'd to petition that it might be press'd.
It heav'd convulsively-she sobb'd-"Oh Juan!
What have I risk'd for you!"-then wept like Niobéian.

XII.

Her milk-white arms around his neck she threw-
Those arms so soft, so fair, so form'd for love!
Her burning tears his bosom did bedew,

As they would melt his heart.-Oh, Phidian Jove! What chisel ever cut, or painter drew,

A group so fine!-Rapt Juan's eyes did rove O'er her sweet breast, as in his arms he caught her, And thought for ever he could there support her.

XIII.

In truth, Her Grace, when she had cast aside
Her sombre garb, was rather thinly clad
In a low dress, by no means made to hide
The native beauties of her form, which had

A rich, voluptuous ripeness, that outvied

Some of his former loves, and fann'd the mad Desires of passion in Don Juan's breastExcuse me, reader, you can guess the rest.

XIV.

You won't?-Oh, well, if you had rather not
Tax your imagination, don't blame me.

I only wish to spare a blush, nor blot

Our tale, though true, with aught that should not be Blazon'd abroad o'er scandal's huge tea-pot.

Nature's bright mirror all eyes should not see,

Too often are its pictures all distorted

By those whose spectacles are not well sorted.

XV.

The beauteous Duchess, then, that night was drest
In a most elegant undress, that show'd

How "beauty unadorn'd's adorn'd the "best.
It could not be that to mere chance she ow'd
The charming negligence that did invest

Her lovely limbs, whose bright carnation glow'd
Beneath the robes that did almost, reveal

Those charms they were affecting to conceal.

XVI.

And (perhaps it might be chance) her lac'd chemilche,
Fine as Arachne's web, did slyly peep

On one side, 'twixt her bosom and the silk
That form'd the bodice, but did scarcely keep

Its place sufficiently to hide the milk

-Y hue of that fair orb, letting its pink crest creep Almost above the margin of the lace

That gracefully did aim to shroud Her Grace.

XVII.

Poor Juan was no anchorite-he saw

He came was overcome !-Nor long did

To think what consequences this one flaw

In their morality might quickly cause.

pause

"He saw her charming," and saw more than-pshaw ! Why need we further dwell, when nature's laws Imperatively bid her subjects bow

To her stern mandates, be they high or low.

XVIII.

Juan had yet, of sense, so much to spare,
As not to lose sight of the upper robe,
Which, with the cowl, had fallen from her fair
Smooth shoulders to the floor, when, with a sob,

She threw herself into his arms (and there-
-By prov'd she'd not the patience of old Job).

"He saw her charming, but he saw not half
The charms her downcast modesty conceal'd."

Thomson's Seasons.