Just now there was no peril of temptation :
He loved the infant orphan he had saved,
As patriots (now and then) may love a nation:
His pride, too, felt that she was not enslaved,
Owing to him-as also her salvation,

Through his means and the church's, might
be paved:

But one thing's odd, which here must be inserted,
The little Turk refused to be converted.

LVI.

And thence through Berlin, Dresden, and the
Until he reach'd the castellated Rhine. [like,
Ye glorious Gothic scenes! how much ye strike
All phantasies, not even excepting mine:

Twas strange enough she should retain the im-A grey wall, a green ruin, rusty pike,
pression,

Through such a scene of change, and dread, and slaughter;

But though three bishops told her the transgres-
sion,

She show'd a great dislike to holy water:
She also had no passion for confession :
Perhaps she had nothing to confess :-no

matter

Make my soul pass the equinoctial line Between the present and past worlds, and hover Upon their airy confines, half-seas over.

LXII.

But Juan posted on through Mannheim, Bonn,
Which Drachenfels frowns over like a spectre
Of the good feudal times for ever gone,
On which I have not time just now to lecture.

Whate'er the cause, the church made little of it-From thence he was drawn onwards to Cologne, She still held out that Mahomet was a prophet.

LVII.

In fact, the only Christian she could bear

Was Juan, whom she seem'd to have selected In place of what her home and friends once were. He naturally loved what he protected;

A city which presents to the inspector

In the Empress Ann's time, Biren, her favourite, assumed the name and arms of the Birons of France, which families are yet extant with that of England. There are still the

daughters of Courland of that name: one of them I remember seeing in England in the blessed year of the Allies-the Duchess of S-, to whom the English Duchess of Somerset presented me as a namesake.

Eleven thousand maidenheads of bone,*
The greatest number flesh hath ever known.

LXIII.

In prison-but the jailor, what is he?
No less a victim to the bolt and bar.
Is the poor privilege to turn the key
Upon the captive, freedom? He's as far
Who watches o'er the chain, as they who wear.

From thence to Holland's Hague and Helvoet-From the enjoyment of the earth and air,

sluys,

'Here are chaste wives, pure lives: here people pay

But what they please; and, if that things be 'Tis only that they love to throw away [dear Their cash to show how much they have a year. Here laws are all inviolate; none lay

|

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

Traps for the traveller; every highway's clear: Here he was interrupted by a knife, [life!' His breath-he from his swelling throat untied With- Damn your eyes! your money or your A kerchief, crying, 'Give Sal that!'—and died.

XI.

These freeborn sounds proceeded from four
pads,

In ambush laid, who had perceived him loiter
Behind his carriage; and, like handy lads,
Had seized 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,
Exposed to lose his life as well as breeches.

XII.

Juan, who did not understand a word

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.

Don Juan, having done the best he could In all the circumstances of the case, Of English, save their shibboleth 'God damn?' As soon as Crowner's quest' allow'd, pursued And even that he had so rarely heard, [laam,' His travels to the capital apace :He sometimes thought 'twas only their 'Sa-Esteeming it a little hard he should

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

I heard them wish 'God with you,' save that way.

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

XIX.

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-eyed Sal (his blowing),

So prime, so swell, so nutty, and so knowing? ||

Gin.

[Ken, a house that harbours thieves.]
The theatre.]

Robbery on horseback.]

The advance of science and of language has rendered it unnecessary to translate the above good and true English, spoken in its original purity by the select mobility and their patrons. The following is a stanza of a song which was very popular, at least in my early days:

'On the high toby spice flash the muzzle,
In spite of each gallows old scout:
If you at the spellken can't hustle,
You'll be hobbled in making a clout.

Then your Blowing will wax gallows haughty,
When she hears of your scaly mistake,
She'll surely turn snitch for the forty,
That her Jack may be regular weight."