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His morns he pass’d in business—which, dissected,

Was like all business, a laborious nothing,
That leads to lassitude, the most infected,

And centaur Nessus garb of mortal clothing,
And on our sofas makes us lie dejected,

And talk in tender horrors of our loathing
All kinds of toil, save for our country's good-
grows no better, though 't is time it should.

His afternoons he pass'd in visits, luncheons,

Lounging, and boxing; and the twilight hour
In riding round those vegetable puncheons

Callid “Parks," where there is neither fruit nor flower Enough to gratify a bee's slight manchings;

But after all it is the only s bower" (In Moore's phrase) where the fashionable fair Can form a slight acquaintance with fresh air.

Then dress, then dinner, then awakes the world!

Then glare the lamps, then whirl the wheels, then roar Through street and square fast-flashing chariots, hurl'd

Like harness'd meteors; then along the floor
Chalk mimics painting ; then festoons are twirld;

Then roll the brazen thunders of the door
Which opens to the thousand happy few
An earthly paradise of “

or molu."

There stands the noble hostess, nor shall sink

With the three-thousandth curtsey; there the waltz-
The only dance which teaches girls to think-
Makes one in love even with its


faults. Saloon, room,

hall o'erflow beyond their brink, And long the latest of arrivals halts, 'Midst royal dukes and dames condemn'd to climb, And gain an inch of staircase at a time.

LXIX. Thrice happy he who, after a survey

Of the good company, can win a corner, A door that 's in, or boudoir out of the way,

Where he may fix himself, like small “ Jack Horner,” And let the Babel round run as it may,

And look on as a mourner, or a scorner, Or an approver, or a mere spectator, Yawning a little as the night grows


But this won't do, save by and by; and he

Who, like Don Juan, takes an active share,
Must steer with care through all that glittering sea

Of gems and plumes, and pearls and silks, to where He deems it is his proper place to be ;

Dissolving in the waltz to some soft air,
Or proudlier prancing with mercurial skill
Where science marshals forth her own quadrille.

Or, if he dance not, but hath higher views

Upon an heiress, or his neighbour's bride,
Let him take care that that which he pursues

Is not at once too palpably descried.
Full many an eager gentleman oft rues

His haste : impatience is a blundering guide
Amongst a people famous for reflection,
Who like to play the fool with circumspection.

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But, if you can contrive, get next at supper ;

Or, if forestallid, get opposite and ogle:-
Oh ye

ambrosial moments! always upper In mind, a sort of sentimental bogle, Which sits for ever upon memory's crupper,

The ghost of vanish'd pleasures once in vogue! I Can tender souls relate the rise and fall Of hopes and fears which shake a single ball.

But these precautionary hints can touch

Only the common run, who must pursue,
And watch, and ward ; whose plans a word too much

Or little overturns; and not the few
Or many (for the number 's sometimes such)

Whom a good mien, especially if new,
Or fame, or name, for wit, war, sense, or nonsense,
Permits whate'er they please, or did not long since.

Our hero, as a hero, young and handsome,

Noble, rich, celebrated, and a stranger,
Like other slaves of course must pay his ransom

Before he can escape from so much danger
As will environ a conspicuous man. Some

Talk about poetry, and “rack and manger,"
And ugliness, disease, as toil and trouble ;--
I wish they knew the life of a young noble.

They 're young, but know not youth-it is anticipated;

Handsome but wasted, rich without a sous;
Their vigour in a thousand arms is dissipated ;

Their cash comes from, their wealth goes to, a Jew;
Both senates see their nightly votes participated

Between the tyrant's and the tribune's crew;
And, having voted, dined, drank, gamed, and whored,
The family vault receives another lord.

LXXVI. “Where is the world,” cries Young, “ at eighty? Where

The world in which a man was born!" Alas ! Where is the world of eight years past? T was there

I look for it—'t is gone, a globe of glass ! Crack'd, shiver'd, vanish'd, scarcely gazed on ere

A silent change dissolves the glittering mass. Statesmen, chiefs, orators, queens, patriots, kings, And dandies, all are gone on the wind's wings.

Where is Napoleon the Grand ? God knows :

Where little Castlereagh? The devil can tell :
Where Grattan, Carran, Sheridan, all those

Who bound the bar or senate in their spell ? Where is the unhappy queen, with all her woes ?

And where the daughter, whom the isles loved well ? Where are those martyr'd saints, the five per cents ? And where—oh where the devil are the rents ?


LXXVIII. Where's Brummel? Dish'd. Where's Long Pole Wellesley ? Diddled.

Where 's Whitbread ? Romilly? Where 's George the Third ? Where is his will? (That 's not so soon unriddled.)

And where is “Fum" the Fourth, our “royal bird ? ” Gone down, it seems, to Scotland, to be fiddled

Unto by Sawney's violin, we have heard :
“Caw me, caw thee"—for six months hath been hatching
This scene of royal itch and loyal scratching.

Where is Lord This? And where my Lady That?

The Honourable Mistresses and Misses ?
Some laid aside like an old opera-hat,

Married, unmarried, and remarried—(this is An evolution oft perform'd of late).

Where are the Dublin shouts—and London hisses ? Where are the Grenvilles ? Turn’d, as usual, Where My friends the whigs? Exactly where they were.

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Where are the Lady Carolines and Franceses ?

Divorced or doing there anent. Ye annals
So brilliant, where the list of routs and dances is-

Thou Morning Post, sole record of the panels
Broken in carriages, and all the phantasies

Of fashion—say what streams now fill those channels ? Some die, some fly, some languish on the continent, Because the times have hardly left them one tenant.

Some who once set their cap at cautious dukes,

Have taken up at length with younger brothers ;
Some heiresses have bit at sharpers' hooks ;

Some maids have been made wives—some merely mothers; Others have lost their fresh and fairy looks ;

In short, the list of alterations bothers.
There 's little strange in this, but something strange is
The unusual quickness of these common changes.

Talk not of seventy years as age; in seven

I've seen more changes, down from monarchs to
The humblest individual under heaven,

Than might suffice a moderate century through.
I knew that nought was lasting, but now even

Change grows too changeable, without being new :
Nought 's permanent among the human race,
Except the whigs not getting into place.

I've seen Napoleon, who seem'd quite a Jupiter,

Shrink to a Saturn. I have seen a duke (No matter which) turn politician stupider,

If that can well be, than his wooden look.
But it is time that I should hoist my “ blue Peter,”

And sail for a new theme : I've seen-and shook
To see it—the king hiss'd, and then carest ;
But don't pretend to settle which was best.

I've seen the landholders without a rap-

I've seen Johanna Southcote-I have seen
The House of Commons turn'd to a tax-trap-

I've seen that sad affair of the late queenI 've seen crowns worn instead of a fool's cap

I 've seen a congress doing all that 's mean--I've seen some nations, like o'erloaded asses, Kick off their burthens--meaning the high classes.


I 've seen small poets, and great prosers, and

Interminable—not eternal-speakers-
I've seen the funds at war with house and land

I've seen the country gentlemen turn squeakersI've seen the people ridden o'er like sand

By slaves on horseback, I have seen malt liquors Exchanged for “thin potations" by John Ball -I've seen John half detect himself a fool.


But "6


LXXXVI. carpe diem,” Juan, "

carpe, carpe !" To-morrow sees another race as gay And transient, and devour'd by the same harpy.

Life 's a poor player, "-then “play out the play, Ye villains ! ” and, above all, keep a sharp eye

Much less on what you do than what you say :
Be hypocritical, be cautious, be
Not what you seem,

but always what you see.

But how shall I relate in other cantos

Of what befel our hero, in the land
Which 't is the common cry and lie to vaunt as
A moral country? But I hold my

handFor I disdain to write an Atalantis ;

But 't is as well at once to understand, You 're not a moral people, and you know it Without the aid of too sincere a poet.

LXXXVIII. What Juan saw and underwent shall be

My topic, with of course the due restriction Which is required by proper courtesy ;

And recollect the work is only fiction, And that I sing of neither mine nor me,

Though every scribe, in some slight turn of diction, Will hint allusions never meant. Ne'er doubt This—when I speak, I don't hint, but speak out.

LXXXIX. Whether he married with the third or fourth

Offspring of some sage, husband-hunting countess, Or whether with some virgin of more worth

(I mean in fortune's matrimonial bounties) He took to regularly peopling earth,

Of which your lawful awful wedlock fount is
Or whether he was taken in for damages,
For being too excursive in his homages-

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