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XC.

I had forgotten-but must not forget—
An orator, the latest of the session,
Who had deliver'd well a very set

Smooth speech, his first and maidenly transgression Upon debate: the papers echoed yet

With his debut, which made a strong impression, And rank'd with what is every day display'd"The best first speech that ever yet was made."

XCI.

Proud of his "Hear hims!" proud, too, of his vote And lost virginity of oratory,

Proud of his learning (just enough to quote),

He revell'd in his Ciceronian glory :

With memory excellent to get by rote,

With wit to hatch a pun or tell a story, Graced with some merit, and with more effrontery, "His country's pride," he came down to the country. XCII.

There also were two wits by acclamation,

Longbow from Ireland, Strongbow from the Tweed, 1 Both lawyers and both men of education;

But Strongbow's wit was of more polish'd breed: Longbow was rich in an imagination

[Cato.

As beautiful and bounding as a steed,
But sometimes stumbling over a potato,
While Strongbow's best things might have come from
XCIII.

Strongbow was like a new-tuned harpsichord;
But Longbow wild as an Eolian harp,
With which the winds of heaven can claim accord,
And make a music, whether flat or sharp.
Of Strongbow's talk you would not change a word:
At Longbow's phrases you might sometimes carp:
Both wits-one born so, and the other bred,
This by his heart- his rival by his head.

XCIV.

If all these seem an heterogeneous mass
To be assembled at a country seat,

Yet think, a specimen of every class

Is better than a humdrum tête-à-tête.

The days of Comedy are gone, alas!

When Congreve's fool could vie with Molière's béte:

Society is smooth'd to that excess,

That manners hardly differ more than dress.

XCV.

Our ridicules are kept in the back-ground-
Ridiculous enough, but also dull;
Professions, too, are no more to be found

Professional; and there is nought to cull
Of folly's fruit: for though your fools abound,
They're barren, and not worth the pains to pull.
Society is now one polish'd horde,

Form'd of two mighty tribes, the Bores and Bored.

XCVI.

But from being farmers, we turn gleaners, gleaning The scanty but right-well thresh'd cars of truth; And, gentle reader! when you gather meaning, You may be Boaz, and I-modest Ruth.

[Curran and Erskine.]

2" Mrs. Adams answered Mr. Adams, that it was blasphemous to talk of Scripture out of church." This dogma was broached to her husband-the best Christian in any book. See Joseph Andrews.

Farther I'd quote, but Scripture intervening
Forbids. A great impression in my youth
Was made by Mrs. Adams, where she cries,
"That Scriptures out of church are blasphemies. ”
XCVII.

But what we can we glean in this vile age

Of chaff, although our gleanings be not grist. I must not quite omit the talking sage, Kit-Cat, the famous Conversationist, Who, in his common-place book, had a page Prepared each morn for evenings. "List, ob list!".

"Alas, poor ghost!"-What unexpected woes Await those who have studied their bons-mots!

XCVIII.

Firstly, they must allure the conversation,
By many windings to their clever clinch;
And secondly, must let slip no occasion,

Nor bate (abate) their hearers of an inch,
But take an ell-and make a great sensation,
If possible; and thirdly, never flinch
When some smart talker puts them to the test,
But seize the last word, which no doubt's the best.
XCIX.

Lord Henry and his lady were the hosts;

The party we have touch'd on were the guests. Their table was a board to tempt even ghosts

To pass the Styx for more substantial feasts. I will not dwell upon ragoûts or roasts, Albeit all human history attests That happiness for man- the hungry sinner!Since Eve ate apples, much depends on dinner. 3

C.

Witness the lands which "flow'd with milk and honey,"
Held out unto the hungry Israelites ;

To this we have added since, the love of money,
The only sort of pleasure which requites.
Youth fades, and leaves our days no longer sunny;
We tire of mistresses and parasites,

But oh, ambrosial cash! Ah! who would lose thee?
When we no more can use, or even abuse thee!

CI.

The gentlemen got up betimes to shoot,

Or hunt: the young, because they liked the sport— The first thing boys like, after play and fruit;

The middle-aged, to make the day more short;
For ennui is a growth of English root,

Though nameless in our language: -we retort
The fact for words, and let the French translate
That awful yawn which sleep can not abate.
CII.

The elderly walk'd through the library,

And tumbled books, or criticised the pictures, Or saunter'd through the gardens piteously, And made upon the hot-house several strictures, Or rode a nag which trotted not too high,

Or on the morning papers read their lectures, Or on the watch their longing eyes would fix, Longing at sixty for the hour of six.

3["A man seldom thinks with more earnestness of any thing than he does of his dinner; and if he cannot get that well dressed, he should be suspected of inaccuracy in other things."JOHNSON.]

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1 It would have taught him humanity at least. This sentimental savage, whom it is a mode to quote (amongst the novelists) to show their sympathy for innocent sports and old songs, teaches how to sew up frogs, and break their legs by way of experiment, in addition to the art of angling, the cruelest, the coldest, and the stupidest of pretended sports. They may talk about the beauties of nature, but the angler merely thinks of his dish of fish; he has no leisure to take his eyes from off the streams, and a single bite is worth to him more than all the scenery around. Besides, some fish bite best on a rainy day. The whale, the shark, and the tunny fishery

CIX.

The politicians, in a nook apart,
Discuss'd the world, and settled all the spheres:
The wits watch'd every loophole for their art,
To introduce a bon-mot head and ears;
Small is the rest of those who would be smart,

A moment's good thing may have cost them years, Before they find an hour to introduce it;

And then, even then, some bore may make them lose it. CX.

But all was gentle and aristocratic

In this our party; polish'd, smooth, and cold, As Phidian forms cut out of marble Attic.

There now are no Squire Westerns as of old; And our Sophias are not so emphatic,

But fair as then, or fairer to behold.

We have no accomplished blackguards, like Tom Jones, But gentlemen in stays, as stiff as stones.

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have somewhat of noble and perilous in them; even net fishing, trawling, &c. are more humane and useful. But angling! -no angler can be a good man.

"One of the best men I ever knew, -as humane, delicateminded, generous, and excellent a creature as any in the world, was an angler: true, he angled with painted flies, and would have been incapable of the extravagancies of 1. Walton."

The above addition was made by a friend in reading over the MS." Audi alteram partem."-1 leave it to counterbalance my own observation.

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X.

I have brought this world about my ears, and eke
The other: that's to say, the clergy—who
Upon my head have bid their thunders break
In pious libels by no means a few.
And yet I can't help scribbling once a week,
Tiring old readers, nor discovering new.
In youth I wrote because my mind was full,
And now because I feel it growing dull.

But "

XI.

why then publish?" —There are no rewards Of fame or profit when the world grows weary.

I ask in turn, -Why do you play at cards?

Why drink? Why read?-To make some hour less dreary.

It occupies me to turn back regards

On what I've seen or ponder'd, sad or cheery;
And what I write I cast upon the stream,

To swim or sink —I have had at least my dream.
XII.

I think that were I certain of success,

I hardly could compose another line:
So long I've battled either more or less,
That no defeat can drive me from the Nine.
This feeling 't is not easy to express,

And yet 't is not affected, I opine.

In play, there are two pleasures for your choosingThe one is winning, and the other losing.

XIII.

Besides, my Muse by no means deals in fiction:
She gathers a repertory of facts,

Of course with some reserve and slight restriction,
But mostly sings of human things and acts—
And that's one cause she meets with contradiction;
For too much truth, at first sight, ne'er attracts;
And were her object only what's call'd glory,
With more ease too she'd tell a different story.

XIV.

Love, war, a tempest-surely there's variety;
Also a seasoning slight of lucubration;
A bird's eye view, too, of that wild, Society;

A slight glance thrown on men of every station.
If you have nought else, here's at least satiety,
Both in performance and in preparation;
And though these lines should only line portmanteaus,
Trade will be all the better for these Cantos.

XV.

The portion of this world which I at present
Have taken up to fill the following sermon,
Is one of which there's no description recent:
The reason why, is easy to determine :
Although it seems both prominent and pleasant,
There is a sameness in its gems and ermine,
A dull and family likeness through all ages,
Of no great promise for poetic pages.

XVI.

With much to excite, there's little to exalt ; Nothing that speaks to all men and all times; A sort of varnish over every fault;

A kind of common-place, even in their crimes; Factitious passions, wit without much salt,

A want of that true nature which sublimes Whate'er it shows with truth; a smooth monotony Of character, in those at least who have got any.

1["But why then publish? Granville, the polite, And knowing Walsh, would tell me I could write."

POPE.]

XVII.

Sometimes, indeed, like soldiers off parade,

They break their ranks and gladly leave the drill; But then the roll-call draws them back afraid,

And they must be or seem what they were: still Doubtless it is a brilliant masquerade;

But when of the first sight you have had your fill, It palls at least it did so upon me, This paradise of pleasure and ennui.

XVIII.

When we have made our love, and gamed our gaming, Drest, voted, shone, and, may be, something more; With dandies dined; heard senators declaiming ;

Seen beauties brought to market by the score, Sad rakes to sadder husbands chastely taming; There's little left but to be bored or bore. Witness those “ ci-devant jeunes hommes" who stem The stream, nor leave the world which leaveth them.

XIX.

"T is said- - indeed a general complaint — That no one has succeeded in describing The monde, exactly as they ought to paint:

Some say, that authors only snatch, by bribing The porter, some slight scandals strange and quaint, To furnish matter for their moral gibing; And that their books have but one style in commonMy lady's prattle, filter'd through her woman.

XX.

But this can't well be true, just now; for writers
Are grown of the beau monde a part potential :
I've seen them balance even the scale with fighters,
Especially when young, for that's essential.
Why do their sketches fail them as inditers

Of what they deem themselves most consequential, The real portrait of the highest tribe? "Tis that, in fact, there's little to describe.

XXI.

"Haud ignara loquor;" these are Nuga, "quarum Pars parva fui," but still art and part.

Now I could much more easily sketch a harem,
A battle, wreck, or history of the heart,
Than these things; and besides, I wish to spare 'em,
For reasons which I choose to keep apart.
"Vetabo Cereris sacrum qui vulgarit”— 1
Which means that vulgar people must not share it.
XXII.

And therefore what I throw off is ideal.

Lower'd, leaven'd, like a history of freemasons; Which bears the same relation to the real,

As Captain Parry's voyage may do to Jason's. The grand arcanum's not for men to see all; My music has some mystic diapasons; And there is much which could not be appreciated In any manner by the uninitiated.

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XXIV.

A daily plague, which in the aggregate

May average on the whole with parturition. But as to women, who can penetrate

The real sufferings of their she condition? Man's very sympathy with their estate

Has much of selfishness, and more suspicion. Their love, their virtue, beauty, education, But forni good housekeepers, to breed a nation.

XXV.

All this were very well, and can't be better;
But even this is difficult, Heaven knows,
So many troubles from her birth beset her,
Such small distinction between friends and focs,
The gilding wears so soon from off her fetter,
That but ask any woman if she'd choose
(Take her at thirty, that is) to have been
Female or male? a schoolboy or a queen?

XXVI.

"Petticoat influence" is a great reproach,

Which even those who obey would fain be thought To fly from, as from hungry pikes a roach; But since beneath it upon earth we are brought, By various joltings of life's hackney coach, I for one venerate a petticoatA garment of a mystical sublimity, No matter whether russet, silk, or dimity.

XXVII.

Much I respect, and much I have adored,

In my young days, that chaste and goodly veil,
Which holds a treasure, like a miser's hoard,
And more attracts by all it doth conceal-
A golden scabbard on a Damasque sword,
A loving letter with a mystic seal,

A cure for grief- for what can ever rankle
Before a petticoat and peeping ankle ?

XXVIII.

And when upon a silent, sullen day,

With a sirocco, for example, blowing, When even the sea looks dim with all its spray, And sulkily the river's ripple's flowing, And the sky shows that very ancient gray,

The sober, sad antithesis to glowing, — 'Tis pleasant, if then any thing is pleasant, To catch a glimpse even of a pretty peasant.

XXIX.

We left our heroes and our heroines

In that fair clime which don't depend on climate, Quite independent of the Zodiac's signs,

Though certainly more difficult to rhyme at, Because the sun, and stars, and aught that shines, Mountains, and all we can be most sublime at, Are there oft dull and dreary as a dunWhether a sky's or tradesman's is all one.

XXX.

An in-door life is less poetical;

And out of door hath showers, and mists, and sleet, With which I could not brew a pastoral.

But be it as it may, a bard must meet
All difficulties, whether great or small,

To spoil his undertaking or complete,
And work away like spirit upon matter,
Embarrass'd somewhat both with fire and water.

XXXI. Juan-in this respect, at least, like saints Was all things unto people of all sorts, And lived contentedly, without complaints, In camps, in ships, in cottages, or courts— Born with that happy soul which seldom faints, And mingling modestly in toils or sports. He likewise could be most things to all women, Without the coxcombry of certain she men. XXXII.

A fox-hunt to a foreigner is strange;

'Tis also subject to the double danger Of tumbling first, and having in exchange Some pleasant jesting at the awkward stranger: But Juan had been early taught to range

The wilds, as doth an Arab turn'd avenger, So that his horse, or charger, hunter, hack, Knew that he had a rider on his back.

XXXIII.

And now in this new field, with some applause,
He clear'd hedge, ditch, and double post, and rail,
And never craned 1, and made but few "faux pas,"
And only fretted when the scent 'gan fail.

He broke, 'tis true, some statutes of the laws
Of hunting-for the sagest youth is frail;
Rode o'er the hounds, it may be, now and then,
And once o'er several country gentlemen.

XXXIV.

But on the whole, to general admiration

He acquitted both himself and horse: the squires Marvell'd at merit of another nation;

The boors cried " Dang it! who'd have thought it?"- Sires,

The Nestors of the sporting generation,

Swore praises, and recall'd their former fires;
The huntsman's self relented to a grin,
And rated him almost a whipper-in.

XXXV.

Such were his trophies—not of spear and shield,
But leaps, and bursts, and sometimes foxes' brushes;
Yet I must own,— - although in this I yield

To patriot sympathy a Briton's blushes,—
He thought at heart like courtly Chesterfield,

Who, after a long chase o'er hills, dales, bushes, And what not, though he rode beyond all price, Ask'd next day, "If men ever hunted twice ?" 2

XXXVI.

He also had a quality uncommon

To early risers after a long chase,

Who wake in winter ere the cock can summon
December's drowsy day to his dull race, —
A quality agreeable to woman,

When her soft, liquid words run on apace, Who likes a listener, whether saint or sinner, He did not fall asleep just after dinner;

Craning." To crane" is, or was, an expression used to denote a gentleman's stretching out his neck over a hedge, "to look before he leaped "a pause in his "vaulting ambition," which in the field doth occasion some delay and execration in those who may be immediately behind the equestrian sceptic. "Sir, if you don't choose to take the leap, let me !"-was a phrase which generally sent the aspirant on again; and to good purpose: for though the horse and rider" might fall, they made a gap through which, and over him and his steed, the field might follow.

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