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His heart was one of those which most | But “Cavalier Servente” is the phrase
Used in politest circles to express Wax to receive, and marble to retain. This supernumerary slave, who stays He was a lover of the good old school, Close to the lady as a part of dress, Who still become more constant as they cool. Her word the only law which he obeys.
His is no sinecure, as you may guess ;
oach, servants, gondola, he goes to call, No wonder such accomplishments should And carries fan, and tippet, gloves, and turn
shawl. A female head, however sage and steady With scarce a hope that Beppo could return, In law he was almost as good as dead, he With all its sinful doings, I must say, Nor sent, nor wrote, nor show'd the least That Italy's a pleasant place to me,
Who love to see the Sun shine every day, And she had waited several years already ; And vines (not naild to walls) from tree And really if a man won't let us know
to tree That he's alive, he's dead, or should be so. Festoon'd, much like the back-scene of a
Or melodrame, which people flock to see, Besides, within the Alps, to every woman When the first act is ended by a dance (Although, God knows, it is a grievous sin,) In vineyards copied from the south of Tis, I may say, permitted to have two men;
France. I can't tell who first bronght the custom in; But "Cavalier Serventes” are quite common, And no one notices, nor cares a pin; I like on Autumn-evenings to ride out, And we may call this (not to say the worst) Without being forced to bid my groom be A second marriage which corrupts the first.
My cloak is round his middle strapp'd
about, The word was formerly a “Cicisbeo,” Because the skies are not the most secure; But that now grown vulgar and indecent; I know too that, if stopp'd upon my route, The Spaniards call the person a “Cortejo, Where the green alleys windingly allure, For the same mode subsists in Spain, though Reeling with grapes red waggons choke
recent ; In short it reaches from the Po to Teio, In England 'twould be dung, dust, or a dray. And may perhaps at last be o'er the sea sent. But Heaven preserve Old England from
such courses! I also like to dine on beccaficas, | Or what becomes of damage and divorces? To see the Sun set, sure he'll rise to-morrow,
Not through a misty morning twinkling
weak as However, I still think, with all due deference A drunken man's dead eye in maudlin To the fair single part of the Creation,
sorrow, That married ladies should preserve the But with all heaven t'himself; that day preference
will break as In tête-à-tête or general conversation- Beauteous as cloudless, nor be forced to And this I say without peculiar reference
borrow To England, France, or any other nation-That sort of farthing-candlelight which Because they know the world, and are at ease,
glimmers And being natural, naturally please. Where reeking London's spoky cauldron
'T'is true, your budding Miss is very
charming, I love the language, that soft bastard Latin, But shy and awkward at first coming out, which melts like kisses from a female So much alarm’d, that she is quite alarming,
mouth, All Giggle, Blush ;-half Pertness, and half And sounds as if it should be writ on satin,
With syllables which breathe of the sweet And glancing at Mamma, for fear there's
South, harm in
And gentle liquids gliding all so pat in, What you, she, it, or they, may be about, That not a single accent seems uncouth, The Nursery still lisps out in all they Like our harsh northern whistling, gruntutter
ing guttural, Besides, they always smell of bread and which we're obliged to hiss, and spit, and butter,
I like the women too (forgive my folly), Onr trifling bankruptcies in the Gazette, From the rich peasant-cheek of ruddy Our cloudy climate, and our chilly women,
All these I can forgive, and those forget, And large black eyes that flash on you a And greatly venerate our recent glories,
And wish they were not owing to the Tories. Of rays that say a thousand things at once, To the bigh dama's brow, more melancholy, But clear, and with a wild and liquid But to my tale of Laura,--for I find
Digression is a sin, that by degrees Heart on her lips, and soul within her eyes, Becomes exceeding tedious to my mind, Soft as her clime, and sunny as her skies. And, therefore, may the reader too dis
The gentle reader, who may wax unkind, Eve of the land which still is Paradise ! And, caring little for the author's ease, Italian Beauty ! didst thou not inspire Insist on knowing what he means, a hard Raphael, who died in thy embrace, and vies And hapless situation for a bard. With all we know of Heaven, or can desire, In what he hath bequeath'd us ?-in what
Oh, that I had the art of easy writing Though flashing from the servour of the What should be easy reading ! could I scale
Parnassus, where the Muses sit inditing Wonld words describe thy past and present Those pretty poems never known to fail,
How quickly would I print (the world While yet Canova can create below ? *)
delighting) A Grecian, Syrian, or Assyrian tale;
And sell you, mix'd with western senti"England! with all thy faults I love thee
Some samples of the finest Orientalism. I said at Calais, and have not forgot it; I like to speak and lucubrate my fill; I like the government (but that is not it); But I am but a nameless sort of person, I like the freedom of the press and quill; (A broken Dandy lately on my travels) I like the Habeas Corpus(when we've got it); And take for rhyme, to hook my rambling I like a parliamentary debate,
verse on, Particularly when 'tis not too late ; The first that Walker's Lexicon unravels,
And when I can't find that, I put a worse on,
Not caring as I ought for critics' cavils; I like the taxes, when they're not too many; I've half a mind to tumble down to prose, I like a seacoal-fire, when not too dear; But verse is more in fashion-so here goes. I like a beef-steak, too, as well as any; Have no objection to a pot of beer; I like the weather, when it is not rainy, The Count and Laura made their ney That is, I like two months of every year,
arrangement, And so God save the Regent, Church, and Which lasted as arrangements sometimes do,
For half a dozen years without estrangeWhich means that I like all and every thing.
Those jealous whiffs, which never any Our standing army, and disbanded seamen,
change meant: Poor's rate, Reform, my own, the nation's In such affairs there probably are few
Who have not had this pouting sort of Our little riots just to show we are freemen,
squabble, From sinners of high station to the rabble.
*) In talking thus, the writer, more especially
to break them : Since, as all know, without the sex, our | The world beheld them with indulgent air;
The pious only wish'd “the devil take them!" Would seem unfinish'd like their untrimm’d He took them not; he very often waits,
And leaves old sinners to be young oncs' (Signed) PRINTER'S DEVIL.
But they were young : Oh! what without This is the case in England ; at least was
our youth During the dynasty of Dandies, now Would love be! What would youth be Perchance succeeded by some other class
without love! Of imitated imitators :- how Youth lends it joy, and sweetness, vigour, Irreparably soon decline, alas !
The demagogues of fashion: all below Heart, soul, and all that seems as from Is frail; how easily the world is lost
By love, or war, and now and then by frost! But, languishing with years, it grows un
couthOne of few things experience don't improve, Crush'd was Napoleon by the northern Thor, Which is, perhaps, the reason why old Who knock'd his army down with icy fellows
hammer, Are always so preposterously jealous. Stopp'd by the elements, like a whaler, or
A blundering novice in his new French
grammar; It was the Carnival, as I have said Good cause had he to doubt the chance of Some six and thirty stanzas back, and so Laura the usual preparations made, And as for Fortune - but I dare not d-n Which you do when your mind's made up
Because were I to ponder to infinity,
I cannot say that she's done much for me Laura, when drest, was (as I sang before)
yet ; A pretty woman as was ever seen,
Not that I mean her bounties to disparage, Fresh as the Angel o'er
new inn-door, We've not yet closed accounts, and we Or frontispiece of a new Magazine,
shall see yet With all the fashions which the last month How much she'll make amends for past wore,
miscarriage; Colourd, and silver-paper leaved between Meantime the goddess I'll no more impor'That and the title-page, for fear the press
tune, Should soil with parts of speech the parts Unless to thank her when she's made my of dress.
They went to the Ridotto ; - 'tis a hall To turn,-and to return;- the devil take it, Where people dance, and sup, and dance This story slips for ever through my again;
fingers, Its proper name, perhaps,were a mask’d-ball, Because, just as the stanza likes to make it, But that's of no importance to my strain ; It needs must be-and so it rather lingers; 'Tis (on a smaller scale) like our Vauxhall, This form of verse began, I can't well break it, Excepting that it can't be spoilt by rain: But must keep time and tune like public The company is "mix’d" (the phrase I
singers; quote is,
But if I once get through my present As much as saying, they're below your
I'll take another when I'm next at leisure.
For a "mixt company” implies that, save They went to the Ridotto: ('tis a place Yourself and friends, and half a hundred To which I mean to go myself to-morrow,
Just to divert my thoughts a little space, Whom you may bow to without looking Because I'm rather hippish, and may borrow
Some spirits, guessing at what kind of The rest are but a vulgar set, the bore
face Of public places, where they basely brave May lurk beneath each mask, and as my The fashionable stare of twenty score Of well-bred persons, called "the World;" Slackens its pace sometimes, I'll make, or but I,
find Although I know them, really don't know Something shall leave it half an hour why.
Now Laura moves along the joyous crowd, He was a Turk, the colour of mahogany; Smiles in her eyes, and simpers on her lips; And Laura saw him, and at first was glad, To some she whispers, others speaks aloud; Because the Turks so much admire phiTo some she curtsies, and to some she dips,
logyny, Complains of warmth, and this complaint Although their usage of their wives is sad ;
'Tis said they use no better than a dog any Her lover brings the lemonade, she sips; Poor woman, whom they purcha
like a She then surveys, condemns, but pities still
pad: Her dearest friends for being drest so ill. They have a number, though they ne'er
Four wives by law, and concubines "ad One has false curls, another too much paint,
libituin.” A third-where did she buy that frightful
turban? A fourth 's so pale she fears she's going to They lock them up, and veil, and guard faint,
them daily, A fifth's look 's vulgar, dowdyish, and They scarcely can behold their male resuburban,
lations, A sixth's white silk has got a yellow taint, So that their moments do not pass so gaily A seventh's thin muslin surely will be her As is supposed the case with northern bane,
nations ; And lo! an eighth appears,—"I'll see no Confinement, too, must make them look
quite palely: For fear, like Banquo's kings, they reach And as the Turks abhor long conversations,
Their days are either past in doing nothing,
clothing Meantime, while she was thus at others
gazing, Others were levelling their looks at her; They cannot read, and so don't lisp in She heard the men's half-whisper'd mode
criticism; of praising, Nor write, and so they don't affect the And, till 'twas done, determined not to stir;
muse ; The women only thought it quite amazing Were never caught in epigram or witticism, That at her time of life so many were Have no romances, sermons, plays, reviews,Admirers still, - but men are so debased, In harams learning soon would make a Those brazen creatures always suit their
pretty schism! taste.
But luckily these beauties are no “blues,"
“That charming passage in the last new For my part, now, I ne'er could understand
poem.” Why naughty women-but I won't discuss A thing which is a scandal to the land, I only don't see why it should be thus; No solemn, antique gentleman of rhyme, And if I were but in
gown and band,
Who having angled all his life for fame, Just to entitle me to make a fuss,
And getting but a nibble at a time, Id preach on this till Wilberforce and Still fussily keeps fishing on, the same
Small “Triton of the minnows," the sublime Should quote in their next speeches from Of mediocrity, the furious tame,
my homily. The echo's echo, usher of the school
Of female wits, boy-bards-in short, a fool! While Laura thus was seen and seeing,
A stalking oracle of awful phrase, Talking, she knew not why and cared not The approving "Good!” (by no means GOOD what,
in law) So that her female friends, with envy broil- Humming like flies around the newest blaze,
The bluest of bluebottles you e'er saw, Beheld her airs and triumph, and all that; Teasing with blame, excruciating with And well drest males still kept before her
Gorging the little fame he gets all raw, And passing bowd and mingled with her Translating tongues he knows not even by
letter, More than the rest one person seem'd to stare And sweating plays so middling, bad were With pertinacity that's rather rare.
One hates an author, that's all author, Oh, Mirth and Innocence! Oh, Milk and fellows
Water! In foolscap uniforms turn’d up with ink, Ye happy mixtures of more happy days! So very anxious, clever, fine, and jealous, In these sad centuries of sin and slaughter, One don't know what so say to them, or Abominable Man no more allays
His thirst with such pure beverage. No Unless to puff them with a pair of bellows;
matter, Of coxcombry's worst coxcombs d'en the I love you both, and both shall have my pink
praise: Are preferable to these shreds of paper, Oh, for old Saturn's reign of sugar-candy!These unquench'd snuffings of the midnight- Meantime I drink to your return in brandy.
Our Laura's Turk still kept his eyes upon Of these same we see several, and of others,
her, Men of the world, who know the world Less in the Mussulman than Christian way,
Which seems to say, “Madam, I do you S-tt, R-8, M-re, and all the better
And while I please to stare, you'll please Who think of something else besides the
to stay;" pen;
Could staring win a woman this had won But for the children of the "mighty
But Laura could not thus be led astray, The would-be wits and can't be gentlemen, She had stood fire too long and well to I leave them to their daily “tea is ready,"
boggle Smug coterie, and literary lady.
Even at this stranger's most outlandish ogle.
The poor dear Mussulwomen whom 1 The morning now was on the point of mention
breaking, Have none of these instructive pleasant A turn of time at which I would advise
Ladies who have been dancing, or partaking And one would seem to them a new invention, In any other kind of exercise, Unknown as bells within a Turkish steeple; To make their preparations for forsaking I think 'twould almost be worth while to The ball-room ere the sun begins to rise,
Because when once the lamps and candles (Though best-down projects very often
fail, reap ill)
His blushes make them look a little pale. A missionary anthor, just to preach Our Christian usage of the parts of speech.
I've seen some balls and revels in my time,
And staid them over for some silly reason, No chemistry for them unfolds her gasses, And then I look'd (I hope it was no crime), No metaphysics are let loose in lectures, To see what lady best stood out the scason; No circulating library amasses
And though I've seen some thousands in Religious novels, moral tales, and strictures
their prime, Upon the living manners as they pass us; Lovely and pleasing, and who still may No exhibition glares with annual pictures ;
please on, They stare not on the stars from out their I never saw but one (the stars withdrawn),
Whose bloom could after dancing dare Nor deal (thank God for that!) in mathe
the dawn. matics.
The name of this Aurora I'll not mention, Why I thank God for that is no great matter, Although I might, for she was nought I have my reasons, you no doubt suppose,
to me And as, perhaps, they would not highly More than that patent-work of God's inflatter,
vention, I'll keep them for my life (to come) in A charming woman, whom we like to see;
But writing names would merit reprehenI fear I have a little turn for satire,
sion, And yet methinks the older that one grows Yet if you like to find out this fair she, Inclines us more to laugh than scold, though At the next London or Parisian ball
laughter You still may mark her cheek, out-bloomLeaves us so doubly serious shortly after.