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Tra.

The angel!

Ink.

The devil! why, man, Pray get out of the hobble as fast as you can. You wed with Miss Lilac 't would be your per dition!

She's a poet, a chemist, a mathematician.

Tra. I say she's an angel. Ink. Say rather an angle. If you and she marry, you'll certainly wrangle. I say she's a Blue, man, as blue as the ether.

Tra. And is that any cause for not coming together? Ink. Humph! I can't say I know any happy alliance

Which has lately sprung up from a wedlock with science.

She's so learned in all things, and fond of concerning Herself in all matters connected with learning, That

Tra. What?

Ink. I perhaps may as well hold my tongue; But there's five hundred people can tell you you 're

wrong.

Tra. You forget Lady Lilac 's as rich as a Jew. Ink. Is it miss or the cash of mamma you pursue? Tra. Why, Jack, I'll be frank with you-something of both.

The girl's a fine girl.

Ink. And you feel nothing loth To her good lady-mother's reversion; and yet Her life is as good as your own, I will bet.

Tra. But consider, dear Inkel, she's one of the "Blues."

Ink. As sublime !-Mr. Tracy-I've nothing to say. Stick to prose-As sublime!!-But I wish you good day.

Tra. Nay, stay, my dear fellow-consider-I'm wrong;

I own it; but, prithee, compose me the song.
Ink. As sublime!!

Tra.

I but used the expression in haste. Ink. That may be, Mr. Tracy, but shows damn'd bad taste.

Tra. I own it-I know it-acknowledge it-what
Can I say to you more!
Ink.

I see what you'd be at:
You disparage my parts with insidious abuse,
Till you think you can turn them best to your own

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Tra.

Tra. Let her live, and as long as she likes; I de- And my own grand romance-mand Had its full share of praise. Nothing more than the heart of her daughter and I myself saw it puff'd in the "Old Girl's Review." hand.

Ink. Why, that heart 's in the inkstand-that hand on the pen.

Ink. What Review? Tra.

Tra. Apropos-Will you write me a song now and Have you never yet seen it?

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'Tis the English "Journal de Trevoux;" A clerical work of our Jesuits at home.

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(Where he seems to be soaring in search of his wits),
And an interval grants from his lecturing fits,
I'm engaged to the Lady Bluebottle's collation,
To partake of a luncheon and learn'd conversation:
Tis a sort of reunion for Scamp, on the days

Of his lecture, to treat him with cold tongue and praise.

What I've told her in prose, at the least, as sublime?
Ink. As sublime 7 If it be so, no need of my And I own, for my own part, that 'tis not unplea

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Will you go! There's Miss Lilac will also be pre-Enter Lady Bluebottle, Miss Lilac, Lady Bluemount,

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Tra. You should rather encourage my passion than shock it.

But let us proceed; for I think by the hum

Ink. Very true; let us go, then, before they can come,

Or else we'll be kept here an hour at their levée,
On the rack of cross questions, by all the blue bevy.
Hark! Zounds, they'll be on us; I know by the drone
Of old Botherby's spouting ex-cathedrâ tone.
Ay! there he is at it. Poor Scamp! better join
Your friends, or he'll pay you back in your own coin.
Tra. All fair; 'tis but lecture for lecture.
Ink.
That's clear.
But for God's sake, let's go, or the Bore will be here.
Come, come: nay, I'm off.
[Exit Inkel.
Tra.
You are right, and I'll follow;
'Tis high time for a "Sic me servavit Apollo."
And yet we shall have the whole crew on our kibes,
Blues, dandies, and dowagers, and second-hand
scribes,

All flocking to moisten their exquisite throttles
With a glass of Madeira at Lady Bluebottle's.

[Exit Tracy. END OF ECLOGUE THE FIRST.

ECLOGUE THE SECOND.

An Apartment in the House of Lady Bluebottle. A Table prepared.

Sir Richard Bluebottle solus.

Was there ever a man who was married so sorry?
Like a fool, I must needs do the thing in a hurry.
My life is reversed, and my quiet destroy'd;
My days, which once pass'd in so gentle a void,
Must now, every hour of the twelve, be employ'd;
The twelve, do I say?-of the whole twenty-four,
Is there one which I dare call my own any more?
What with driving and visiting, dancing and dining,
What with learning, and teaching, and scribbling
and shining,

In science and art, I'll be curst if I know
Myself from my wife; for although we are two,
Yet she somehow contrives that all things shall be
done

In a style which proclaims us eternally one.

But the thing of all things which distresses me more Than the bills of the week (though they trouble me sore)

Is the numerous, humorous, backbiting crew

Mr. Botherby, Inkel, Tracy, Miss Mazarine, and others, with Scamp the Lecturer, &c. &c. Lady Blueb. Ah! Sir Richard, good morning: I've brought you some friends.

Lady Blueb.

next me.

Sir Rich. (bows, and afterwards aside). If friends, they're the first, But the luncheon attends, I pray ye be seated, "sans cérémonie." Mr. Scamp, you're fatigued; take your chair there [They all sit. Sir Rich. (aside). If he does, his fatigue is to come. Lady Blueb. Mr. TracyLady Bluemount-Miss Lilac-be pleased, pray, to place ye; And you, Mr. Botherby

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Of scribblers, wits, lecturers, white, black, and blue.
Who are brought to my house as an inn, to my cost-
For the bill here, it seems, is defray'd by the host-
No pleasure! no leisure! no thought for my pains,
But to hear a vile jargon which addles my brains;
A smatter and chatter, glean'd out of reviews,
By the rag, tag, and bobtail of those they call 'Tis his way.

"BLUES;"

A rabble who know not-But soft, here they come! Would to God I were deaf as I'm not, I'll be dumb.

Lady Blueb. Never mind our friend Inkel; we al know, my dear,

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I doubt if you'll leave us an equal behind.

Both. I have written the prologue, and meant to have pray'd

or a spice of your wit in an epilogue's aid.

Ink. Not at all; on the contrary, those of the lake Have taken already, and still will continue To take-what they can, from a groat to a guinea, Of pension or place;-but the subject's a bore, Lady Bluem. Well, sir, the time's coming.

Ink.

What say you to this?

Scamp.

Scamp don't you feel sore?

They have merit, I own; Though their system's absurdity keeps it unknown. Ink. Then why not unearth it in one of your lectures?

Scamp. It is only time past which comes under my strictures.

Lady Blueb. Come, a truce with all tartness ;-the joy of my heart

Is to see Nature's triumph o'er all that is art.
Wild Nature!-Grand Shakspeare!

Both

And down Aristotle! Lady Bluem. Sir George thinks exactly with Lady Bluebottle:

And my Lord Seventy-four, who protects our dear
Bard,

And who gave him his place, has the greatest regard
For the poet, who, singing of pedlars and asses,
Has found out the way to dispense with Parnassus,
Tra. And you, Scamp!-

Scamp. I needs must confess I'm embarrass'd. Ink. Don't call upon Scamp, who's already so harass'd

Ink. Well, time enough yet, when the play's to be With old schools, and new schools, and no schools, play'd.

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and all schools.

Tra. Well, one thing is certain, that some must be

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This gentle emotion, so seldom our lot

Upon earth. Give it way: 'tis an impulse which lifts
Our spirits from earth; the sublimest of gifts;
For which poor Prometheus was chain'd to his
mountain:

[tain; 'Tis the source of all sentiment-feeling's true foun'Tis the Vision of Heaven upon Earth: 'tis the gas Of the soul: 'tis the seizing of shades as they pass, And making them substance; 'tis something divine !Ink. Shall I help you, my friend, to a little more wine?

Both. I thank you; not any more, sir, till I dine. Luk. Apropos-Do you dine with Sir Humphrey today?

Tra. I should think with Duke Humphrey was more

in your way.

Ink. It might be of yore; but we authors now look To the Knight, as a landlord, much more than the Duke.

The truth is, each writer now quite at his ease is,

And (except with his publisher) dines where he pleases.

But 'tis now nearly five, and I must to the Park.

Tra. And I'll take a turn with you there till 'tis dark.

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Out of "Elegant Extracts."
Lady Blueb.

Well, now we break up;
But remember Miss Diddle invites us to sup.
Ink. Then at two hours past midnight we all meet
again,

For the sciences, sandwiches, hock, and champagne!
Fra. And the sweet lobster salad!
Both.
I honour that meal
For 'tis then that our feelings most genuinely-feel.
Ink. True; feeling is truest then, far beyond ques
tion:

I wish to the gods 'twas the same with digestion! Lady Blueb. Pshaw!-never mind that; for one moment of feeling

Is worth-God knows what.

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END OF ECLOGUE THE SECOND

[Exeunt.

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CHILDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE:

A ROMAUNT.

'L'univers est une espèce de livre, dont on n'a lu que la première page quand on n'a vu que son pays. J'en ai feuilleté un assez grand nombre, que j'ai trouvé également mauvaises. Cet examen ne m'a point été infructueux. Je haissais ma patrie. Toutes les impertinences des peuples divers, parmi lesquels j'ai vécu, m'ont réconcilié avec elle. Quand je n'aurais tiré d'autre bénéfice de mes voyages que celui-là, je n'en regretterais ni les frais ni les fatigues.'-LE COSMOPOLITE,

PREFACE TO THE FIRST AND SECOND CANTOS.

THE following poem was written, for the most part, amidst the scenes which it attempts to describe. It was begun in Albania; and the parts relative to Spain and Portugal were composed from the author's observations in those countries. Thus much it may be necessary to state for the correctness of the descriptions. The scenes attempted to be sketched are in Spain, Portugal, Epirus, Acarnania, and Greece. There, for the present, the poem stops: its reception will determine whether the author may venture to conduct his readers to the capital of the East, through Ionia and Phrygia: these two Cantos are merely experimental.

A fictitious character is introduced for the sake of giving some connection to the piece; which, however, makes no pretensions to regularity. It has been suggested to me by friends, on whose opinions I set a high value, that in this fictitious character, 'Childe Harold,' I may incur the suspicion of having intended some real personage: this I beg leave, once for all, to disclaim. Harold is a child of imagination, for the purpose I have stated. In some very trivial particulars, and those merely local, there might be grounds for such a notion; but in the main points, I should hope, none whatever.

It is almost superfluous to mention that the appellation Childe,' as 'Childe Waters,' 'Childe Childers,' etc., is used as more consonant with the old structure of versification which I have adopted. The 'Good Night,' in the beginning of the first Canto, was suggested by 'Lord Maxwell's Good Night,' in the Border Minstrelsy, edited by Mr. Scott.

With the different poems which have been published on Spanish subjects, there may be found some slight coincidence in the first part which treats of the Peninsula; but it can only be casual, as, with the exception of a few concluding stanzas, the whole of this poem was written in the Levant.

The stanza of Spenser, according to one of our most successful poets, admits of every variety. Dr. Beattie makes the following observation:-'Not long ago, I began a poem in the style and stanza of Spenser, in which I propose to give full scope to my inclination, and be either droll or pathetic, descriptive or sentimental, tender or satirical, as the humour strikes me: for, if I mistake not, the measure which I have adopted admits equally of all these kinds of composition.' Strengthened in my opinion by such authority, and by the example of some in the highest order of Italian poets, I shall make no apology for attempts at similar variations in the following composition; satisfied that, if they are unsuccessful, their failure must be in the execution rather than in the design, sanctioned by the practice of Ariosto, Thomson, and Beattie,

LONDON, February 1812.

ADDITION TO THE PREFACE.

I HAVE now waited till almost all our periodical journals have distributed their usual portion of criticism. To the justice of the generality of their criticisms I have nothing to object: it would ill become me to quarrel with their very slight degree of censure, when, perhaps, if they had been less kind, they had been more candid. Returning, therefore, to all and each my best thanks for their liberality, on one point alone shall I venture an observation. Amongst the many objections justly urged to the very indifferent character of the 'vagrant Childe' (whom, notwithstanding many hints to the contrary, I still maintain to be a fictitious personage), it has been stated that, besides the anachronism, he is very unknightly, as the times of the Knights were times of Love, Honour, and so forth. Now, it so happens that the good old times, when 'l'amour du bon vieux tems, l'amour antique' flourished, were the most profligate of all possible centuries. Those who have any doubts on this subject may consult Sainte-Palaye, passim, and more particularly vol. ii. p. 69. The vows of chivalry were no better kept than any other vows whatsoever; and the songs of the

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