The Works of Lord Byron Volume VI Part 102

XLIV.

Moreover I've remarked (and I was once A slight observer in a modest way), And so may every one except a dunce, That ladies in their youth a little gay, Besides their knowledge of the World, and sense Of the sad consequence of going astray, Are wiser in their warnings 'gainst the woe Which the mere pa.s.sionless can never know.

XLV.

While the harsh prude indemnifies her virtue By railing at the unknown and envied pa.s.sion, Seeking far less to save you than to hurt you, Or, what's still worse, to put you out of fashion,-- The kinder veteran with calm words will court you, Entreating you to pause before you dash on; Expounding and ill.u.s.trating the riddle Of epic Love's beginning--end--and middle.

XLVI.

Now whether it be thus, or that they are stricter, As better knowing why they should be so, I think you'll find from many a family picture, That daughters of such mothers as may know The World by experience rather than by lecture, Turn out much better for the Smithfield Show Of vestals brought into the marriage mart, Than those bred up by prudes without a heart.

XLVII.

I said that Lady Pinchbeck had been talked about-- As who has not, if female, young, and pretty?

But now no more the ghost of Scandal stalked about; She merely was deemed amiable and witty, And several of her best _bons-mots_ were hawked about: Then she was given to charity and pity, And pa.s.sed (at least the latter years of life) For being a most exemplary wife.

XLVIII.

High in high circles, gentle in her own, She was the mild reprover of the young, Whenever--which means every day--they'd shown An awkward inclination to go wrong.

The quant.i.ty of good she did 's unknown, Or at the least would lengthen out my song: In brief, the little orphan of the East Had raised an interest in her,--which increased.

XLIX.

Juan, too, was a sort of favourite with her, Because she thought him a good heart at bottom, A little spoiled, but not so altogether; Which was a wonder, if you think who got him, And how he had been tossed, he scarce knew whither: Though this might ruin others, it did _not_ him, At least entirely--for he had seen too many Changes in Youth, to be surprised at any.

L.

And these vicissitudes tell best in youth; For when they happen at a riper age, People are apt to blame the Fates, forsooth, And wonder Providence is not more sage.

Adversity is the first path to Truth: He who hath proved War--Storm--or Woman's rage, Whether his winters be eighteen or eighty, Hath won the experience which is deemed so weighty.

LI.

How far it profits is another matter.-- Our hero gladly saw his little charge Safe with a lady, whose last grown-up daughter Being long married, and thus set at large, Had left all the accomplishments she taught her To be transmitted, like the Lord Mayor's barge, To the next comer; or--as it will tell More Muse-like--like to Cytherea's sh.e.l.l.[lp]

LII.

I call such things transmission; for there is A floating balance of accomplishment, Which forms a pedigree from Miss to Miss, According as their minds or backs are bent.

Some waltz--some draw--some fathom the abyss Of Metaphysics; others are content With Music; the most moderate shine as wits;-- While others have a genius turned for fits.

LIII.

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 h.o.a.rds; 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.

LIV.

But now I will begin my poem. 'Tis 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.

LV.

My Muses do not care a pinch of rosin About what's called success, or not succeeding: Such thoughts are quite below the strain they have chosen; 'T is a "great moral lesson"[634] 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 foundered, I think to canter gently through a hundred.

LVI.

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[635]--which is their handle, Their Moon, their Sun, their gas, their farthing candle.

LVII.

He had many friends who had many wives, and was Well looked upon by both, to that extent Of friendship which you may accept or pa.s.s, It does nor good nor harm; being merely meant To keep the wheels going of the higher cla.s.s, And draw them nightly when a ticket's sent; And what with masquerades, and fetes, and b.a.l.l.s, For the first season such a life scarce palls.

LVIII.

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,"[636] as I may say, Where everybody 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.

LIX.

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.

LX.

Perhaps you'll have a letter from the mother, To say her daughter's feelings are trepanned; 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.

LXI.

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 dreamed to have shown-- Yet neither frightened 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 formed a pair.

LXII.

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.

LXIII.

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-sh.o.r.e, till it begins to blow-- Then sees your heart wrecked, with an inward scoffing.

This works a world of sentimental woe,[lq]

And sends new Werters yearly to their coffin; But yet is merely innocent flirtation, Not quite adultery, but adulteration.

LXIV.

"Ye G.o.ds, I grow a talker!"[637] Let us prate.

The next of perils, though I place it _stern_est, 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.

LXV.

For 't is a low, newspaper, humdrum, lawsuit Country, where a young couple of the same ages[lr]

Can't form a friendship, but the world o'erawes it.