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My Dian of the Ephesians, Lady Adeline,
Began to think the Duchess' conduct free;
Regretting much that she had chosen so bad a line,
And waxing chiller in her courtesy,

Look'd grave and pale to see her friend's fragility,
For which most friends reserve their sensibility.

XLVII.

There's nought in this bad world like sympathy: 'Tis so becoming to the soul and face; Sets to soft music the harmonious sigh,

And robes sweet friendship in a Brussels lace. Without a friend, what were humanity,

To hunt our errors up with a good grace? Consoling us with- Would you had thought twice! Ah! if you had but follow'd my advice!'

XLVIII.

Oh, Job! you had two friends: one's quite enough,
Especially when we are ill at ease:

They are but bad pilots when the weather's rough;
Doctors less famous for their cures than fees.
Let no man grumble when his friends fall off,
As they will do like leaves at the first breeze:
When your affairs come round, one way or t'other,
Go to the coffeehouse, and take another.*

XLIX.

But this is not my maxim: had it been,

Some heart-aches had been spared me: yet I

care not

I would not be a tortoise in his screen

Of stubborn shell, which waves and weather wear not,

'Tis better, on the whole, to have felt and seen That which humanity may bear, or bear not : 'Twill teach discernment to the sensitive, And not to pour their ocean in a sieve.

L.

Of all the horrid, hideous notes of wee,
Sadder than owl-songs or the midnight blast,
Is that portentous phrase, 'I told you so,'

Utter'd by friends, those prophets of the past, Who, 'stead of saying what you now should do, Own they foresaw that you would fall at last, And solace your slight lapse 'gainst bonos mores, With a long memorandum of old stories.

LI.

The Lady Adeline's serene severity

Was not confined to feeling for her friend, Whose fame she rather doubted with posterity, Unless her habits should begin to mend ; But Juan also shared in her austerity,

But mix'd with pity, pure as e'er was penn'd:

* In Swift's or Horace Walpole's letters, I think it is mentioned that somebody, regretting the loss of a friend, was answered by an universal Pylades: When I lose one, I go to the St. James's Coffeehouse, and take another."

I recollect having heard an anecdote of the same kind. Sir W. D. was a great gamester. Coming in one day to the club of which he was a member, he was observed to look melancholy. What is the matter, Sir William? cried Hare, of facetious memory. Ah,' replied Sir W., I have just lost poor Lady D. Lost! What al-Quinze or Hazard? was the consolatory rejoinder of the querist.

His inexperience moved her gentle ruth, And (as her junior by six weeks) his youth.

LII.

These forty days' advantage of her years-
And hers were those which can face calculation,
Boldly referring to the list of peers,

And noble births, nor dread the enumeration— Gave her a right to have maternal fears

For a young gentleman's fit education; Though she was far from that leap-year, whose leap

In female dates, strikes Time all of a heap

LIII.

This may be fix'd at somewhere before thirty-
Say seven-and-twenty, for I never knew
The strictest in chronology and virtue

Advance beyond, while they could pass for new. Oh Time! why dost not pause? Thy scythe, so dirty

With rust, should surely cease to hack and hew. Reset it: shave more smoothly, also slower, If but to keep thy credit as a mower.

LIV.

But Adeline was far from that ripe age,
Whose ripeness is but bitter at the best.
'Twas rather her experience made her sage;
For she had seen the world, and stood its test,
As I have said in-I forget what page:

My Muse despises reference, as you've guess'd By this time;-but strike six from seven-andtwenty,

And you will find her sum of years in plenty.

LV.

At sixteen she came out, presented, vaunted;
She put all coronets into commotion:
At seventeen, too, the world was still enchanted
With the new Venus of their brilliant ocean:
At eighteen, though below her feet still panted
A hecatomb of suitors with devotion,
She had consented to create again
That Adam, call'd 'the happiest of men.

LVI.

Since then she had sparkled through three glow. ing winters,

Admired, adored; but also so correct. That she had puzzled all the acutest hinters, Without the apparel of being circumspect. They could not even glean the slightest splinters From off the marble, which had no defect. She had also snatch'd a moment, since her marriage,

To bear a son and heir-and one iniscarriage.

LVII.

Fondly the wheeling fire-flies flew around her,

Those little glitterers of the London night: But none of these possess'd a sting to wound herShe was a pitch beyond a coxcomb's flight. Perhaps she wish'd an aspirant profounder; But whatsoe'er she wish'd, she acted right: And whether coldness, pride, or virtue, dignify A woman, so she's good, what does it signify?

LVIII.

I hate a motive, like a lingering bottle,

Which with the landlord makes too long a stand, Leaving all claretless the unmoisten'd throttle, Especially with politics on hand:

I hate it, as I hate a drove of cattle,

Who whirl the dust, as simooms whirl the sand: hate it, as I hate an argument,

A laureate's ode, or servile peer's 'content.'
LIX.

'Tis sad to hack into the roots of things,
They're so much intertwisted with the earth:
So that the branch a goodly verdure flings,
I reck not if an acorn gave it birth.
To trace all actions to their secret springs,
Would make indeed some melancholy mirth;
But this is not at present my concern,
And I refer you to wise Oxenstiern.*

LX.

With the kind view of saving an éclat,
Both to the Duchess and diplomatist,
The Lady Adeline, as soon 's she saw

That Juan was unlikely to resist

(For foreigners don't know that a faux pas
In England ranks quite on a different list
From those of other lands, unblest with juries,
Whose verdict for such sin a certain cure is)-
LXI.

The Lady Adeline resolved to take

Such measures as she thought might best impede The further progress of this sad mistake.

She thought with some simplicity indeed; But innocence is bold even at the stake,

And simple in the world, and doth not need,
Nor use, those palisades by dames erected,
Whose virtue lies in never being detected.
LXII.

It was not that she fear'd the very worst:
His Grace was an enduring married man,
And was not likely all at once to burst

Into a scene, and swell the clients' clan
Of Doctors' Commons; but she dreaded first
The magic of her Grace's talisman,
And next a quarrel (as he seem'd to fret)
With Lord Augustus Fitz-Plantagenet.

LXIII.

Her Grace, too, pass'd for being an intrigante,
And somewhat méchante in her amorous sphere;
One of those pretty, precious plagues, which haunt
A lover with caprices soft and dear,
That like to make a quarrel, when they can't
Find one, each day of the delightful year;
Bewitching, torturing, as they freeze or glow,
And-what is worst of all-won't let you go:

LXIV.

The sort of thing to turn a young man's head, Or make a Werter of him in the end.

The famous Chancellor Oxenstiern said to his son, on the latter expressing his surprise upon the great effects arising from petty causes in the presumed mystery of politics: You see by this, my son, with how little wisdom the kingdoms of the world are governed.

No wonder then a purer soul should dread
This sort of chaste liaison for a friend:
It were much better to be wed or dead,

Than wear a heart a woman loves to rend. 'Tis best to pause, and think, ere you rush on, If that a bonne fortune be really bonne.

LXV.

And first, in the o'erflowing of her heart,
Which really knew, or thought it knew, no guile,
She call'd her husband now and then apart,
And bade him counsel Juan. With a smile,
Lord Henry heard her plans of artless art
To wean Don Juan from the siren's wile;
And answer'd, like a statesman or a prophet,
In such guise that she could make nothing of it.

LXVI.

Firstly, he said, 'he never interfered

In anybody's business but the king's.' Next, that he never judged from what appear'd, Without strong reason, of those sort of things;' Thirdly, that 'Juan had more brain than beard, And was not to be held in leading strings ;' And fourthly, what need hardly be said twice, That good but rarely came from good advice.'

LXVII.

And therefore, doubtless to approve the truth
Of the last axiom, he advised his spouse
To leave the parties to themselves, forsooth-
At least as far as bienseance allows;
That time would temper Juan's faults of youth;
That young men rarely made monastic vows;
That opposition only more attaches-
But here a messenger brought in despatches;
LXVIII.

And being of the council called 'the Privy,'
Lord Henry walk'd into his cabinet,
To furnish matter for some future Livy,

To tell how he reduced the nation's debt;
And if their full contents I do not give ye,
It is because I do not know them yet;
But I shall add them in a brief appendix,
To come between mine epic and its index.
LXIX.

But ere he went, he added a slight hint,
Another gentle coinmonplace or two,
Such as are coin'd in conversation's mint,

And pass, for want of better, though not new; Then broke his packet to see what was in't,

And, having casually glanced it through, Retired: and, as he went out, calmly kiss'd her, Less like a young wife than an aged sister.

LXX.

He was a cold, good, honourable man,
Proud of his birth, and proud of everything:
A goodly spirit for a state divan,

A figure fit to walk before a king:

Tall, stately, form'd to lead the courtly van

On birthdays, glorious, with a star and string; The very model of a chamberlain

And such I mean to make him, when I reign.

LXXI.

But there was something wanting on the wholeI don't know what, and therefore cannot tell

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There is a flower called 'Love in Idieness,
For which see Shakspeare's ever-blooming garden:
I will not make his great description less,
And beg his British godship's humble pardon,
If, in my extremity of rhyme's distress,

I touch a single leaf where he is warden;→→
But though the flower is different, with the French
Or Swiss Rousseau, cry Voilà la Pervenche l'
LXXVI.

Eureka! I have found it! What I mean

To say is, not that love is idleness, But that in love such idleness has beer.

An accessory, as I have cause to guess.

Hard labour's an indifferent go-between;

Your men of business are not apt to express Much passion, since the merchant-ship the Argo Convey'd Medea as her supercago,

LXXVII.

'Beatus ille procul l' from 'negotiis.'

Saith Horace; the great little poet's wrong; His other maxim, 'Noscitur à sociis'

Is much more to the purpose of his song; Though even that were sometimes too ferocious, Unless good company be kept too long But in his teeth, whate'er their state or station, Thrice happy they who have an occupation, LXXVIII.

Adam exchanged his Paradise for ploughing; Eve made up millinery with fig-leaves

The earhest knowledge from the tree so knowing,
As far as I know, that the church receives:
And since that time it need not cost much showing
That many of the ills o'er which man grieves,
And still more women, spring from not employing
Some hours to make the remnant worth enjoying.
LXXIX.

And hence high life is oft a dreary void,

A rack of pleasures, where we must invent A something wherewithal to be annoy'd. Bards may sing what they please about Content: Contented, when translated, means but cloy'd; And hence arise the woes of sentiment, Blue-devils, and blue-stockings, and romances, Reduced to practice, and perform'd like dances.

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LXXXV.

Our gentle Adeline had one defect

Her heart was vacant, though a splendid mansion, Her conduct had been perfectly correct,

As she had seen nought claiming its expansion. A wavering spirit may be easier wreck'd,

Because 'tis frailer, doubtless, than a staunch one:
But when the latter works its own undoing,
Its inner crash is like an earthquake's ruin.
LXXXVI.

She loved her lord, or thought so; but that love
Cost her an effort, which is a sad toil,

The stone of Sisyphus, if once we move

Our feelings 'gainst the nature of the soil.
She had nothing to complain of, or reprove,
No bickerings, no connubial turmoil:
Their union was a model to behold,
Serene and noble-conjugal, but cold.

LXXXVII.

There was no great disparity of years,
Though much in temper; but they never clash'd:
They moved like stars united in their spheres,

Or like the Rhone by Leman's waters wash'd,
Where mingled, and yet separate, appears

The river from the lake all bluely dash'd
Through the serene and placid glassy deep,
Which fain would lull its river-child to sleep.
LXXXVIII

Now, when she once had ta'en an interest
In anything, however she might flatter
Herself that her intentions were the best,

Intense intentions are a dangerous matter:
Impressions were much stronger than she guess'd,
And gather'd as they ran, like growing water,
Upon her mind; the more so, as her breast
Was not at first too readily impress'd.

LXXXIX.

But when it was, she had that lurking demon
Of double nature, and thus doubly named-
Firmness yclept in heroes, kings, and seamen,
That is, when they succeed; but greatly blamed,
As obstinacy, both in men and women,

Whene'er their triumph pales, or star is tamed:
And 'twill perplex the casuist in morality,
To fix the due bounds of this dangerous quality.

XC.

Had Buonaparte won at Waterloo,

It had been firmness; now 'tis pertinacity: Must the event decide between the two? I leave it to your people of sagacity To draw the line between the false and true, If such can e'er be drawn by man's capacity: My business is with Lady Adeline, Who in her way, too, was a heroine.

XCI.

She knew not her own heart: then how should I?
I think not she was then in love with Juan:
so, she would have had the strength to fly
The wild sensation, unto her a new one.
She merely felt a common sympathy

(I will not say it was a false or true one) In him, because she thought he was in dangerHer husband's friend, her own, young, and a stranger.

XCII.

She was, or thought she was, his friend-and this
Without the farce of friendship, or romance
Of Platonism which leads so oft amiss

Ladies who ve studied friendship but in France Or Germany, where people purely kiss.

To thus much Adeline would not advance; But of such friendship as man's may to man be, She was as capable as woman can be.

XCII.

No doubt the secret influence of the sex
Will there, as also in the ties of blood,
An innocent predominance annex,

And tune the concord to a finer mood.
If free from passion, which all friendship checks,
And your true feelings fully understood,
No friend like to a woman earth discovers,
So that you have not been, nor will be, lovers.

XCIV.

Love bears within its breast the very germ

Of change; and how should this be otherwise That violent things more quickly find a term,

Is shown through nature's whole analogies; And how should the most fierce of all be firm? Would you have endless lightning in the skies? Methinks Love's very title says enough: How should the tender passion e'er be tough?

XCV.

Alas! by all experience, seldom yet

(I merely quote what I have heard from many) Had lovers not some reason to regret

The passion which made Solomon a zany.
I've also seen some wives (not to forget
The marriage state, the best or worst of any)
Who were the very paragons of wives,
Yet made the misery of at least two lives.
XCVI.

I've also seen some female friends ('tis odd,

But true-as, if expedient, I could prove) That faithful were through thick and thin, abroad, At home, far more than ever yet was loveWho did not quit me when Oppression trod

Upon me; whom no scandal could remove; Who fought, and fight, in absence, too, my battles, Despite the snake Society's loud rattles.

XCVII.

Whether Don Juan and chaste Adeline
Grew friends in this or any other sense,
Will be discuss'd hereafter, I opine:

At present I am glad of a pretence
To leave them hovering, as the effect is fine,
And keeps the atrocious reader in suspense;
The surest way for ladies and for books,
To bait their tender, or their tenter, hooks.

XCVIII.

Whether they rode, or walk'd, or studied Spanish,
To read Don Quixote in the original,

A pleasure before which all others vanish.
Whether their talk was of the kind called ' small,'

Or serious, are the topics I must banish

To the next canto; where perhaps I shail Say something to the purpose, and display Considerable talent in my way.

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