In gangs of fifty, thieves commit their crimes; At fifty, love for love is rare, 'tis true: Julia had honour, virtue, truth, and love She never would disgrace the ring she wore, 'Tis sweet to know there is an eye will mark Our coming, and look brighter when we come 'Tis sweet to be awaken'd by the lark, Or lull'd by falling waters; sweet the hum Sweet is the vintage, when the showering grapes Sweet to the father is his first-born's birth; Sweet is a legacy, and passing sweet The unexpected death of some old lady Or gentleman of seventy years complete, Who've made us youth' wait too-too long already For an estate, or cash, or country seat, Still breaking, but with stamina so steady, CXXVI. 'Tis sweet to win, no matter how, one's laurels, Sweet is old wine in bottles, ale in barrels ; Dear is the helpless creature we defend Against the world: and dear the schoolboy spot We ne'er forget, though there we are forgot. CXXVII. But sweeter still than this, than these, than all, The tree of knowledge has been pluck'd, all's And life yields nothing further to recall Man's a strange animal, and makes strange use Some new experiment to show his parts Where different talents find their different marts: You'd best begin with truth; and when you've lost your Labour, there's a sure market for imposture. CXXIX. What opposite discoveries we have seen! One breaks your bones, one sets them in their sockets; But vaccination certainly has been A kind antithesis to Congreve's rockets With which the doctor paid off an old pox, By borrowing a new one from an ox. CXXX. Bread has been made (indifferent) from potatoes, And galvanism has set some corpses grinning, But has not answer'd like the apparatus Of the Humane Society's beginning, By which men are unsuffocated gratis: What wondrous new machines have late bec spinning! I said the small-pox has gone out of late, CXXXI. 'Tis said the great came from America: Perhaps it may set out on its return: The population there so spreads, they say, 'Tis grown high time to thin it in its turn, With war, or plague, or famine, any way, So that civilization they may learn; CXXXII. This is the patent age of new inventions Sir Humphry Davy's lantern, by which coals CXXXIII. Man's a phenomenon, one knows not what, And wonderful beyond all wondrous measure; 'Tis pity though, in this sublime world, that Pleasure's a sin, and sometimes sin's a pleasure; Few mortals know what end they would be at, But whether glory, power, or love, or treasure, The path is through perplexing ways; and when The goal is gain'd, we die, you know-and thenCXXXIV. What then?-I do not know, no more do you- CXXXV. 'Twas, as the watchmen say, a cloudy night: There's something cheerful in that sort of light, CXXXVI. 'Twas midnight-Donna Julia was in bed, Sleeping, most probably, when at her door A rose a clatter right awake the dead, If they had never been awoke before; And that they have been so, we all have read, And are to be so, at the least, once more: The door was fasten'd, but with voice and fist First knocks were heard, then Madam-madamhist! CXXXVII. 'For God's sake, Madam--Madam--hero's ny master, With more than half the city at his backWas ever heard of such a curst disaster! 'Tis not my fault-I kept good watch-Alack! Do pray undo the bolt a little faster They're on the stair just now, and in a crack Will all be here; perhaps he yet may flySurely the window's not so very high! CXXXVIII. By this time Don Alfonso was arrived, With torches, friends, and servants in great number; The major part of them had long been wived, And therefore paused not to disturb the slumber Of any wicked woman, who contrived By stealth her husband's temples to encumber: Examples of this kind are so contagious, Were one not punish'd, all would be outrageous CXXXIX. I can't tell how, or why, or what suspicion It surely was exceedingly ill-bred, To hold a levée round his lady's hed, And summon lackeys, arm'd with fire and sword, To prove himself the thing he most abhorr'd. CXL. Poor Donna Julia, starting as from sleep (Mind-that I do not say-she had not slept), Began at once to scream, and yawn, and weep; Her maid Antonia, who was an adept, Contrived to fling the bed-clothes in a heap, As if she had just now from out them crept: I can't tell why she should take all this trouble To prove her mistress had been sleeping double. CXLI. But Julia mistress, and Antonia maid, Appear'd like two poor harmless women, who Of goblins, but still more of men, afraid, Had thought one man might be deterr'd by two And therefore side by side were gently laid, Until the hours of absence should run through, And truant husband should return, and say, My dear, I was the first who came away.' CXLII. Now Julia found at length a voice, and cried, Has madness seized you? Would that I had died He search'd, they search'd, and rummag'd everywhere, Closet and clothes-press, chest, and window-seat, And found much linen, lace, and several pair Of stockings, slippers, brushes, combs, complete, With other articles of ladies fair, To keep them beautiful, or leave them neat: Arras they prick'd and curtains with their swords, And wounded several shutters and some boards. CXLIV. Under the bed they search'd, and there they foundNo matter what-it was not that they sought; They open'd windows, gazing if the ground Had signs or footmarks, but the earth said nought; And then they stared each other's faces round: CXLVII. 'Is it for this I have disdain d to hold And deaf, that any other it would vex? 'Was it for this that no Cortejo e'er I yet have chosen from out the youth of Seville? I favour'd none-nay, was almost uncivil? Donna Julia has made a mistake. Count O'Reilly did not take Algiers, but Algiers very nearly took him: he and his army and fleet retreated with great loss, and not much credit, from before that city, in the year 17-. CXLIX. 'Did not the Italian Musico Cazzani CLII. 'If he comes here to take a deposition, I would not you for nothing should be fee'd— But, as my maid's undrest, pray turn your spies out." 'Oh' sobb'd Antonia, 'I could tear their eyes out." CLIII. 'There is the closet, there the toilet, there The antechamber-search them under, overi There is the sofa, there the great arm-chair, The chimney-which would really hold a lover. I wish to sleep, and beg you will take care And make no further noise, till you discover The secret cavern of this lurking treasure; And when 'tis found, let me, too, have that pleasure. CLIV. 'And now, Hidalgo! now that you have thrown Doubt upon me, confusion over all, Pray have the courtesy to make it known Who is the man you search for? how d'ye call 'At least, perhaps, he is not sixty years, At that age he would be too old for slaughter, I am asham'd of having shed these tears. She ceased, and turn'd upon her pillow; pale Waved and o'ershading her wan cheek, appears The Senhor Don Alfonso stood confused; Antonia bustled round the ransack'd room, CLX. With prying snub-nose and small eyes, he stood, For reputation he had little care; CLXI. But Don Alfonso stood, with downcast looks, At first he tried to hammer an excuse, To which the sole reply was tears and sobs, And indications of hysterics, whose Prologue is always certain throes, and throbs, Gasps, and whatever else the owners choose :- CLXIII. He stood in act to speak, or rather stammer, CLXIV. With him retired his posse comitatus,' The attorney last, who linger'd near the door Reluctantly, still tarrying there as late as Antonia let him-not a little sore At this most strange and unexplain'd 'hiatus In Don Alfonso s facts, which just now wore An awkward look. As he revolved the case, The door was fasten'd in his legal face. CLXV. No sooner was it bolted than-Oh shame! But to proceed-for there is more behind: CLXVI. He had been hid--I don't pretend to say No doubt, in little compass, round or square; But pity him I neither must nor may His suffocation by that pretty pair: And, secondly, I pity not, because He had no business to commit a sin, Forbid by heavenly, fined by human, lawsAt least 'twas rather early to begin; But at sixteen the conscience rarely gnaws So much as when we call our old debts in At sixty years, and draw the accompts of evil, And find a deuced balance with the devil. CLXVIII. Of his position I can give no notion: 'Tis written in the Hebrew Chronicle, CLXIX. |