LXV. His morns he pass'd in business-which, dissected, And talk in tender horrors of our loathing LXVI. His afternoons he pass'd in visits, luncheons, Call'd "Parks," where there is neither fruit nor flower Enough to gratify a bee's slight munchings; But after all it is the only "bower" (In Moore's phrase) where the fashionable fair Can form a slight acquaintance with fresh air. LXVII. 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 twirl'd; Then roll the brazen thunders of the door Which opens to the thousand happy few An earthly paradise of "or molu." LXVIII. There stands the noble hostess, nor shall sink With the three-thousandth curtsey; there the waltz The only dance which teaches girls to think- 'Midst royal dukes and dames condemn'd to climb, 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, LXX. 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 LXXI. Or, if he dance not, but hath higher views His haste impatience is a blundering guide LXXII. But, if you can contrive, get next at supper; Or, if forestall'd, get opposite and ogle:ye ambrosial moments! always upper Oh In mind, a sort of sentimental bogle, Which sits for ever upon memory's crupper, The ghost of vanish'd pleasures once in vogue! m Can tender souls relate the rise and fall Of hopes and fears which shake a single ball. LXXIII. But these precautionary hints can touch Only the common run, who must pursue, And watch, and ward; whose plans a word too much Or many (for the number 's sometimes such) Or fame, or name, for wit, war, sense, or nonsense, LXXIV. Our hero, as a hero, young and handsome, Noble, rich, celebrated, and a stranger, LXXV. They 're young, but know not youth-it is anticipated; Their cash comes from, their wealth goes to, a Jew ; And, having voted, dined, drank, gamed, and whored, LXXVI. Alas! "Where is the world," cries Young, "at eighty? Where A silent change dissolves the glittering mass. LXXVII. Where is Napoleon the Grand? God knows: 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. LXXIX. 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., LXXX. Where are the Lady Carolines and Franceses? Of fashion-say what streams now fill those channels? LXXXI. 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 LXXXII. Talk not of seventy years as age; in seven I've seen more changes, down from monarchs to Than might suffice a moderate century through. LXXXIII. I've seen Napoleon, who seem'd quite a Jupiter, If that can well be, than his wooden look. To see it—the king hiss'd, and then carest ; LXXXIV. I've seen the landholders without a rap I've seen Johanna Southcote-I have seen LXXXV. I've seen small poets, and great prosers, and I've seen the funds at war with house and land- By slaves on horseback—I have seen malt liquors Exchanged for "thin potations" by John Bull I've seen John half detect himself a fool. But " LXXXVI. carpe diem," Juan, “ carpe, carpe !" To-morrow sees another race as gay And transient, and devour'd by the same harpy. 66 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. LXXXVII. But how shall I relate in other cantos Of what befel our hero, in the land But 't is as well at once to understand, LXXXVIII. What Juan saw and underwent shall be My topic, with of course the due restriction 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 |