While others have a genius turn'd for fits.
But whether fits, or wits, or harpsichords, Theology, fine arts, or finer stays, May be the baits for gentlemen or lords With regular descent, in these our days, The last year to the new transfers its hoards;
New vestals claim men's eyes with the same praise Of 'elegant' et caetera, in fresh batches-All matchless creatures, and yet bent on matches.
But now I will begin my poem. 'T is Perhaps a little strange, if not quite new, That from the first of Cantos up to this I 've not begun what we have to go through.
These first twelve books are merely flourishes, Preludios, trying just a string or two Upon my lyre, or making the pegs sure;
And when so, you shall have the overture.
My Muses do not care a pinch of rosin About what 's call'd success, or not succeeding:
Such thoughts are quite below the strain they have chosen;
'T is a 'great moral lesson' they are reading.
I thought, at setting off, about two dozen Cantos would do; but at Apollo's pleading, If that my Pegasus should not be founder'd, I think to canter gently through a hundred.
Don Juan saw that microcosm on stilts, Yclept the Great World; for it is the least, Although the highest: but as swords have hilts By which their power of mischief is increased, When man in battle or in quarrel tilts, Thus the low world, north, south, or west, or east, Must still obey the high- which is their handle, Their moon, their sun, their gas, their farthing candle.
He had many friends who had many wives, and was Well look'd upon by both, to that extent Of friendship which you may accept or pass, It does nor good nor harm being merely meant To keep the wheels going of the higher class, And draw them nightly when a ticket 's sent:
And what with masquerades, and fetes, and balls, For the first season such a life scarce palls.
A young unmarried man, with a good name And fortune, has an awkward part to play;
For good society is but a game, 'The royal game of Goose,' as I may say, Where every body has some separate aim, An end to answer, or a plan to lay-The single ladies wishing to be double, The married ones to save the virgins trouble.
I don't mean this as general, but particular Examples may be found of such pursuits:
Though several also keep their perpendicular Like poplars, with good principles for roots;
Yet many have a method more reticular-'Fishers for men,' like sirens with soft lutes:
For talk six times with the same single lady, And you may get the wedding dresses ready.
Perhaps you 'll have a letter from the mother, To say her daughter's feelings are trepann'd;
Perhaps you 'll have a visit from the brother, All strut, and stays, and whiskers, to demand What 'your intentions are?'- One way or other It seems the virgin's heart expects your hand:
And between pity for her case and yours, You 'll add to Matrimony's list of cures.
I 've known a dozen weddings made even thus, And some of them high names: I have also known Young men who- though they hated to discuss Pretensions which they never dream'd to have shown-Yet neither frighten'd by a female fuss, Nor by mustachios moved, were let alone, And lived, as did the broken-hearted fair, In happier plight than if they form'd a pair.
There 's also nightly, to the uninitiated, A peril- not indeed like love or marriage, But not the less for this to be depreciated:
It is- I meant and mean not to disparage The show of virtue even in the vitiated-It adds an outward grace unto their carriage-But to denounce the amphibious sort of harlot, 'Couleur de rose,' who 's neither white nor scarlet.
Such is your cold coquette, who can't say 'No,'
And won't say 'Yes,' and keeps you on and off-ing On a lee-shore, till it begins to blow-Then sees your heart wreck'd, with an inward scoffing.
This works a world of sentimental woe, And sends new Werters yearly to their coffin;
But yet is merely innocent flirtation, Not quite adultery, but adulteration.
'Ye gods, I grow a talker!' Let us prate.
The next of perils, though I place it sternest, Is when, without regard to 'church or state,'
A wife makes or takes love in upright earnest.
Abroad, such things decide few women's fate-(Such, early traveller! is the truth thou learnest)-But in old England, when a young bride errs, Poor thing! Eve's was a trifling case to hers.
For 't is a low, newspaper, humdrum, lawsuit Country, where a young couple of the same ages Can't form a friendship, but the world o'erawes it.
A verdict- grievous foe to those who cause it!-Forms a sad climax to romantic homages;
Besides those soothing speeches of the pleaders, And evidences which regale all readers.
But they who blunder thus are raw beginners;
A little genial sprinkling of hypocrisy Has saved the fame of thousand splendid sinners, The loveliest oligarchs of our gynocracy;
You may see such at all the balls and dinners, Among the proudest of our aristocracy, So gentle, charming, charitable, chaste-And all by having tact as well as taste.
Juan, who did not stand in the predicament Of a mere novice, had one safeguard more;
For he was sick- no, 't was not the word sick I meant-But he had seen so much love before, That he was not in heart so very weak;- I meant But thus much, and no sneer against the shore Of white cliffs, white necks, blue eyes, bluer stockings, Tithes, taxes, duns, and doors with double knockings.
But coming young from lands and scenes romantic, Where lives, not lawsuits, must be risk'd for Passion, And Passion's self must have a spice of frantic, Into a country where 't is half a fashion, Seem'd to him half commercial, half pedantic, Howe'er he might esteem this moral nation:
Besides (alas! his taste- forgive and pity!)
At first he did not think the women pretty.
I say at first- for he found out at last, But by degrees, that they were fairer far Than the more glowing dames whose lot is cast Beneath the influence of the eastern star.
A further proof we should not judge in haste;
Yet inexperience could not be his bar To taste:- the truth is, if men would confess, That novelties please less than they impress.
