LIII.

The Count and Laura made their new arrangement,

Which lasted, as arrangements sometimes do,
For half a dozen years without estrangement;
They had their little differences, too;

Those jealous whiffs, which never any change meant:
In such affairs there probably are few
Who have not had this pouting sort of squabble,
From sinners of high station to the rabble.

LIV.

But on the whole, they were a happy pair,

As happy as unlawful love could make them;

The gentleman was fond, the lady fair,

Their chains so slight, 'twas not worth while to break them: The world beheld them with indulgent air;

The pious only wish'd "the devil take them!"

He took them not; he very often waits,

And leaves old sinners to be young ones' baits.

LV.

But they were young: Oh! what without our youth
Would love be! What would youth be without love!
Youth lends it joy, and sweetness, vigour, truth,
Heart, soul, and all that seems as from above ;
But, languishing with years, it grows uncouth-
One of few things experience don't improve,
Which is, perhaps, the reason why old fellows
Are always so preposterously jealous.

LVI.

It was the Carnival, as I have said

Some six and thirty stanzas back, and so Laura the usual preparations made,

Which you do when your mind's made up to go
To-night to Mrs. Boehm's masquerade,
Spectator, or partaker in the show;

The only difference known between the cases
Is-here, we have six weeks of “varnish'd faces."

LVII.

Laura, when drest, was (as I sang before)
A pretty woman as was ever seen,
Fresh as the Angel o'er a new inn door,
Or frontispiece of a new Magazine,
With all the fashions which the last month wore,
Colour'd, and silver paper leaved between

That and the title-page, for fear the press
Should soil with parts of speech the parts of dress.

LVIII.

They went to the Ridotto;-'tis a hall

Where people dance, and sup, and dance again; Its proper name, perhaps, were a masqued ball, But that's of no importance to my strain; "Tis (on a smaller scale) like our Vauxhall, Excepting that it can't be spoilt by rain: The company is "mix'd" (the phrase I quote is, As much as saying, they're below your notice ;)

LIX.

For a "mixt company” implies that, save
Yourself and friends, and half a hundred more,
Whom you may bow to without looking grave,
The rest are but a vulgar set, the bore
Of public places, where they basely brave
The fashionable stare of twenty score
Of well-bred persons, called "the World ;" but I,
Although I know them, really don't know why.

LX.

This is the case in England; at least was
During the dynasty of Dandies, now
Perchance succeeded by some other class
Of imitated imitators:-how
Irreparably soon decline, alas!

The demagogues of fashion: all below
Is frail; how easily the world is lost

By love, or war, and now and then by frost!

LXI.

Crush'd was Napoleon by the northern Thor, Who knock'd his army down with icy hammer, Stopp'd by the elements, like a whaler, or

A blundering novice in his new French grammar; Good cause had he to doubt the chance of war,

And as for Fortune--but I dare not d―n her, Because, were I to ponder to infinity,

The more I should believe in her divinity.

LXIL

She rules the present, past, and all to be yet,
Sae gives us luck in lotteries, love, and marriage;
I cannot say that she's done much for me yet;
Not that I mean her bounties to disparage,
We've not yet closed accounts, and we shall see yet
How much she'll make amends for past miscarriage;
Meantime the goddess I'll no more importune,
Unless to thank her when she's made my fortune.

LXIII.

To turn, and to return;-the devil take it!
This story slips for ever through my fingers,
Because, just as the stanza likes to make it,

It needs must be—and so it rather lingers;
This form of verse began, I can't well break it,
But must keep time and tune like public singers;
But if I once get through my present measure,
I'll take another when I'm next at leisure.

LXIV.

They went to the Ridotto ('tis a place

To which I mean to go myself to-morrow, Just to divert my thoughts a little space,

Because I'm rather hippish, and may borrow Some spirits, guessing at what kind of face

May lurk beneath each mask, and as my sorrow Slackens its pace sometimes, I'll make, or find, Something shall leave it half an hour behind.)

LXV.

Now Laura moves along the joyous crowd,
Smiles in her eyes, and simpers on her lips;
To some she whispers, others speaks aloud;

To some she curtsies, and to some she dips,
Complains of warmth, and this complaint avow'd,
Her lover brings the lemonade, she sips;
She then surveys, condemns, but pities still
Her dearest friends for being drest so ill.

LXVI.

One has false curls, another too much paint,
A third--where did she buy that frightful turban?
A fourth's so pale she fears she's going to faint,
A fifth's look's vulgar, dowdyish, and suburban,
A sixth's white silk has got a yellow taint,

A seventh's thin muslin surely will be her bane, And lo! an eighth appears,--"I'll see no more!" For fear, like Banquo's kings, they reach a score.

LXVII.

Meantime, while she was thus at others gazing,
Others were levelling their looks at her;

She heard the men's half-whisper'd mode of praising,
And, till 'twas done, determined not to stir ;
The women only thought it quite amazing
That at her time of life so many were

Admirers still, but men are so debased,
Those brazen creatures always suit their taste.