Don Juan. CANTO THE FIRST. I. I WANT a hero: an uncommon want, When every year and month sends forth a new one, Till, after cloying the gazettes with cant, The age discovers he is not the true one; Of such as these I should not care to vaunt, I'll therefore take our ancient friend Don Juan We all have seen him in the pantomime, II. Vernon, the Butcher Cumberland, Wolfe, Hawke, Prince Ferdinand, Granby, Burgoyne, Keppel, Howe, Evil and good, have had their tithe of talk, And fill'd their sign-posts then, like Wellesley now; Each in their turn, like Banquo's monarchs stalk, Followers of fame, "nine farrow" of that sow: France, too, had Buonaparté and Dumourier Recorded in the Moniteur and Courier. III. Barnarve, Brissot, Condorcet, Mirabeau, Petion, Clootz, Danton, Marat, La Fayette, Exceedingly remarkable at times, But not at all adapted to my rhymes. IV. Nelson was once Britannia's god of war, And still should be so, but the tide is turn'd; At which the naval people are concern'd; 1 2 3 V. Brave men were living before Agamemnon, 5 A good deal like him too, though quite the same none; And so have been forgotten :-I condemn none, Fit for my poem (that is, for my new one); VI. Most epic poets plunge "in medias res,' (Horace makes this the heroic turnpike road), Beside his mistress, in some soft abode, VII. That is the usual method, but not mine- Forbids all wandering as the worst of sinning, (Although it cost me half an hour in spinning) Narrating somewhat of Don Juan's father, And also of his mother, if you'd rather. VIII. In Seville was he born, a pleasant city, So says the proverb-and I quite agree; IX. His father's name was Jose-Don, of course. Or, being mounted, e'er got down again, 8 X. His mother was a learned lady, famed For every branch of every science known- XI. Her memory was a mine; she knew by heart So that if any actor miss'd his part She could have served him for the prompter's copy; For her Feinagle's were an useless art, And he himself obliged to shut up shop-he Could never make a memory so fine as That which adcrn'd the brain of Donna Inez. XII. Her favourite science was the mathematical, XIII. She knew the Latin-that is, "the Lord's prayer," At least her conversation was obscure; Her thoughts were theorems, her words a problem, XIV. She liked the English and the Hebrew tongue, She proved it somehow out of sacred song, But I must leave the proofs to those who've seen 'em, But this I heard her say, and can't be wrong, 10 11 12 13 11 And all may think which way their judgments lean 'em, "Tis strange the Hebrew noun which means 'I am,' The English always use to govern d-n." XV. 15 Some women use their tongues-she look'd a lecture, Like the lamented late Sir Samuel Romilly, XVI. In short, she was a walking calculation, Miss Edgeworth's novels stepping from their covers, Or Mrs. Trimmer's books on education, Or, "Cœlebs' Wife" set out in quest of lovers; Morality's prim personification, In which not Envy's self a flaw discovers; To others' share let "female errors fall,' For she had not even one-the worst of all, XVII. Oh! she was perfect, past all parallel Of any modern female saint's comparison; So far above the cunning powers of hell, Her guardian angel had given up his garrison; Even her minutest motions went as well As those of the best time-piece made by Harrison: In virtues nothing earthly could surpass her, Save thine "incomparable oil," Macassar! XVIII. Perfect she was, but as perfection is Where our first parents never learn'd to kiss Till they were exiled from their earlier bowers, Where all was peace, and innocence, and bliss, (I wonder how they got through the twelve hours) Don Jose, like a lineal son of Eve, Went plucking various fruit without her leave. XIX. He was a mortal of the careless kind, With no great love for learning, or the learn'd, Who chose to go where'er he had a mind. And never dream'd his lady was concern'd; The world, as usual, wickedly inclined 16 17 18 19 XX. Now Donna Inez had, with all her merit, And sometimes mix'd up fancies with realities, Of getting her liege lord into a scrape. XXI. This was an easy matter with a man Oft in the wrong, and never on his guard; And even the wisest, do the best they can, Have moments, hours, and days, so unprepar'd, That you might "brain them with their lady's fan;" And fans turn into falchions in fair hands, 'Tis pity learned virgins ever wed With persons of no sort of education, Or gentlemen, who though well born and bred, Inform us truly, have they not hen-peck'd you all? XXIII. Don Jose and his lady quarrell'd-why, Not any of the many could divine, Though several thousand people chose to try; 'Twas surely no concern of theirs nor mine; I loathe that low vice curiosity; But if there's any thing in which I shine, 'Tis in arranging all my friends' affairs, Not having, of my own, domestic cares. XXIV. And so I interfered, and with the best For neither of them could I ever find, |