Canto XI

Lord Byron (1788–1824) · 1819–1824

iambic pentameter · ottava rima · 712 lines · from Don Juan

When Bishop Berkeley said ‘there was no matter,’And proved it—’twas no matter what he said:They say his system ’tis in vain to batter,Too subtle for the airiest human head;And yet who can believe it? I would shatterGladly all matters down to stone or lead,Or adamant, to find the world a spirit,And wear my head, denying that I wear it.

What a sublime discovery ’twas to make theUniverse universal egotism,That all ’s ideal—all ourselves: I’ll stake theWorld (be it what you will) that that ’s no schism.O Doubt!—if thou be’st Doubt, for which some take thee;But which I doubt extremely—thou sole prismOf the Truth’s rays, spoil not my draught of spirit!Heaven’s brandy, though our brain can hardly bear it.

For ever and anon comes Indigestion,(Not the most ‘dainty Ariel’) and perplexesOur soarings with another sort of question:And that which after all my spirit vexes,Is, that I find no spot where man can rest eye on,Without confusion of the sorts and sexes,Of beings, stars, and this unriddled wonder,The world, which at the worst ’s a glorious blunder—

If it be chance; or if it be accordingTo the old text, still better:—lest it shouldTurn out so, we’ll say nothing ’gainst the wording,As several people think such hazards rude.They’re right; our days are too brief for affordingSpace to dispute what no one ever couldDecide, and every body one day willKnow very clearly—or at least lie still.

And therefore will I leave off metaphysicalDiscussion, which is neither here nor there:If I agree that what is, is; then this I callBeing quite perspicuous and extremely fair;The truth is, I’ve grown lately rather phthisical:I don’t know what the reason is—the airPerhaps; but as I suffer from the shocksOf illness, I grow much more orthodox.

The first attack at once proved the Divinity(But that I never doubted, nor the Devil);The next, the Virgin’s mystical virginity;The third, the usual Origin of Evil;The fourth at once establish’d the whole TrinityOn so uncontrovertible a level,That I devoutly wish’d the three were four,On purpose to believe so much the more.

To our Theme.—The man who has stood on the Acropolis,And look’d down over Attica; or heWho has sail’d where picturesque Constantinople is,Or seen Timbuctoo, or hath taken teaIn small-eyed China’s crockery-ware metropolis,Or sat amidst the bricks of Nineveh,May not think much of London’s first appearance—But ask him what he thinks of it a year hence?

Don Juan had got out on Shooter’s Hill;Sunset the time, the place the same declivityWhich looks along that vale of good and illWhere London streets ferment in full activity;While every thing around was calm and still,Except the creak of wheels, which on their pivot heHeard,—and that bee-like, bubbling, busy humOf cities, that boil over with their scum:—

I say, Don Juan, wrapt in contemplation,Walk’d on behind his carriage, o’er the summit,And lost in wonder of so great a nation,Gave way to ’t, since he could not overcome it.‘And here,’ he cried, ‘is Freedom’s chosen station;Here peals the people’s voice, nor can entomb itRacks, prisons, inquisitions; resurrectionAwaits it, each new meeting or election.

‘Here are chaste wives, pure lives; here people payBut what they please; and if that things be dear,’Tis only that they love to throw awayTheir cash, to show how much they have a-year.Here laws are all inviolate; none layTraps for the traveller; every highway ’s clear:Here—’ he was interrupted by a knife,With,—‘Damn your eyes! your money or your life!’

These freeborn sounds proceeded from four padsIn ambush laid, who had perceived him loiterBehind his carriage; and, like handy lads,Had seized the lucky hour to reconnoitre,In which the heedless gentleman who gadsUpon the road, unless he prove a fighter,May find himself within that isle of richesExposed to lose his life as well as breeches.

Juan, who did not understand a wordOf English, save their shibboleth, ‘God damn!’And even that he had so rarely heard,He sometimes thought ’twas only their ‘Salam,’Or ‘God be with you!’—and ’tis not absurdTo think so: for half English as I am(To my misfortune), never can I sayI heard them wish ‘God with you,’ save that way;—

Juan yet quickly understood their gesture,And being somewhat choleric and sudden,Drew forth a pocket pistol from his vesture,And fired it into one assailant’s pudding—Who fell, as rolls an ox o’er in his pasture,And roar’d out, as he writhed his native mud in,Unto his nearest follower or henchman,‘Oh Jack! I’m floor’d by that ’ere bloody Frenchman!’

On which Jack and his train set off at speed,And Juan’s suite, late scatter’d at a distance,Came up, all marvelling at such a deed,And offering, as usual, late assistance.Juan, who saw the moon’s late minion bleedAs if his veins would pour out his existence,Stood calling out for bandages and lint,And wish’d he had been less hasty with his flint.

‘Perhaps,’ thought he, ‘it is the country’s wontTo welcome foreigners in this way: nowI recollect some innkeepers who don’tDiffer, except in robbing with a bow,In lieu of a bare blade and brazen front.But what is to be done? I can’t allowThe fellow to lie groaning on the road:So take him up; I’ll help you with the load.’

But ere they could perform this pious duty,The dying man cried, ‘Hold! I’ve got my gruel!O for a glass of max! We’ve miss’d our booty;Let me die where I am!’ And as the fuelOf life shrunk in his heart, and thick and sootyThe drops fell from his death-wound, and he drew illHis breath,—he from his swelling throat untiedA kerchief, crying, ‘Give Sal that!’—and died.

The cravat stain’d with bloody drops fell downBefore Don Juan’s feet: he could not tellExactly why it was before him thrown,Nor what the meaning of the man’s farewell.Poor Tom was once a kiddy upon town,A thorough varmint, and a real swell,Full flash, all fancy, until fairly diddled,His pockets first and then his body riddled.

Don Juan, having done the best he couldIn all the circumstances of the case,As soon as ‘Crowner’s quest’ allow’d, pursuedHis travels to the capital apace;—Esteeming it a little hard he shouldIn twelve hours’ time, and very little space,Have been obliged to slay a freeborn nativeIn self-defence: this made him meditative.

He from the world had cut off a great man,Who in his time had made heroic bustle.Who in a row like Tom could lead the van,Booze in the ken, or at the spellken hustle?Who queer a flat? Who (spite of Bow Street’s ban)On the high toby-spice so flash the muzzle?Who on a lark, with black-eyed Sal (his blowing),So prime, so swell, so nutty, and so knowing?

But Tom’s no more—and so no more of Tom.Heroes must die; and by God’s blessing ’tisNot long before the most of them go home.Hail! Thamis, Hail! Upon thy verge it isThat Juan’s chariot, rolling like a drumIn thunder, holds the way it can’t well miss,Through Kennington and all the other ‘tons,’Which makes us wish ourselves in town at once;—

Through Groves, so call’d as being void of trees(Like lucus from no light); through prospects namedMount Pleasant, as containing nought to please,Nor much to climb; through little boxes framedOf bricks, to let the dust in at your ease,With ‘To be let’ upon their doors proclaim’d;Through ‘Rows’ most modestly call’d ‘Paradise,’Which Eve might quit without much sacrifice;—

Through coaches, drays, choked turnpikes, and a whirlOf wheels, and roar of voices, and confusion;Here taverns wooing to a pint of ‘purl,’There mails fast flying off like a delusion;There barbers’ blocks with periwigs in curlIn windows; here the lamplighter’s infusionSlowly distill’d into the glimmering glass(For in those days we had not got to gas);—

Through this, and much, and more, is the approachOf travellers to mighty Babylon:Whether they come by horse, or chaise, or coach,With slight exceptions, all the ways seem one.I could say more, but do not choose to encroachUpon the Guide-book’s privilege. The sunHad set some time, and night was on the ridgeOf twilight, as the party cross’d the bridge,—

That ’s rather fine. The gentle sound of Thamis—Who vindicates a moment, too, his stream,Though hardly heard through multifarious ‘damme’s’—The lamps of Westminster’s more regular gleam,The breadth of pavement, and yon shrine where fame isA spectral resident—whose pallid beamIn shape of moonshine hovers o’er the pile—Make this a sacred part of Albion’s isle.

The Druids’ groves are gone—so much the better:Stone-Henge is not—but what the devil is it?—But Bedlam still exists with its sage fetter,That madmen may not bite you on a visit;The Bench too seats or suits full many a debtor;The Mansion House too (though some people quiz it)To me appears a stiff yet grand erection;But then the Abbey ’s worth the whole collection.

The line of lights, too, up to Charing Cross,Pall Mall, and so forth, have a coruscationLike gold as in comparison to dross,Match’d with the Continent’s illumination,Whose cities Night by no means deigns to gloss.The French were not yet a lamp-lighting nation,And when they grew so—on their new-found lantern,Instead of wicks, they made a wicked man turn.

A row of gentlemen along the streetsSuspended may illuminate mankind,As also bonfires made of country seats;But the old way is best for the purblind:The other looks like phosphorus on sheets,A sort of ignis fatuus to the mind,Which, though ’tis certain to perplex and frighten,Must burn more mildly ere it can enlighten.

But London ’s so well lit, that if DiogenesCould recommence to hunt his honest man,And found him not amidst the various progeniesOf this enormous city’s spreading span,’Twere not for want of lamps to aid his dodging hisYet undiscover’d treasure. What I can,I’ve done to find the same throughout life’s journey,But see the world is only one attorney.

Over the stones still rattling up Pall Mall,Through crowds and carriages, but waxing thinnerAs thunder’d knockers broke the long seal’d spellOf doors ’gainst duns, and to an early dinnerAdmitted a small party as night fell,—Don Juan, our young diplomatic sinner,Pursued his path, and drove past some hotels,St. James’s Palace and St. James’s ‘Hells.’

They reach’d the hotel: forth stream’d from the front doorA tide of well-clad waiters, and aroundThe mob stood, and as usual several scoreOf those pedestrian Paphians who aboundIn decent London when the daylight ’s o’er;Commodious but immoral, they are foundUseful, like Malthus, in promoting marriage.—But Juan now is stepping from his carriage

Into one of the sweetest of hotels,Especially for foreigners—and mostlyFor those whom favour or whom fortune swells,And cannot find a bill’s small items costly.There many an envoy either dwelt or dwells(The den of many a diplomatic lost lie),Until to some conspicuous square they pass,And blazon o’er the door their names in brass.

Juan, whose was a delicate commission,Private, though publicly important, boreNo title to point out with due precisionThe exact affair on which he was sent o’er.’Twas merely known, that on a secret missionA foreigner of rank had graced our shore,Young, handsome, and accomplish’d, who was said(In whispers) to have turn’d his sovereign’s head.

Some rumour also of some strange adventuresHad gone before him, and his wars and loves;And as romantic heads are pretty painters,And, above all, an Englishwoman’s rovesInto the excursive, breaking the indenturesOf sober reason wheresoe’er it moves,He found himself extremely in the fashion,Which serves our thinking people for a passion.

I don’t mean that they are passionless, but quiteThe contrary; but then ’tis in the head;Yet as the consequences are as brightAs if they acted with the heart instead,What after all can signify the siteOf ladies’ lucubrations? So they leadIn safety to the place for which you start,What matters if the road be head or heart?

Juan presented in the proper place,To proper placemen, every Russ credential;And was received with all the due grimaceBy those who govern in the mood potential,Who, seeing a handsome stripling with smooth face,Thought (what in state affairs is most essential)That they as easily might do the youngster,As hawks may pounce upon a woodland songster.

They err’d, as aged men will do; but byAnd by we’ll talk of that; and if we don’t,’Twill be because our notion is not highOf politicians and their double front,Who live by lies, yet dare not boldly lie:—Now what I love in women is, they won’tOr can’t do otherwise than lie, but do itSo well, the very truth seems falsehood to it.

And, after all, what is a lie? ’Tis butThe truth in masquerade; and I defyHistorians, heroes, lawyers, priests, to putA fact without some leaven of a lie.The very shadow of true Truth would shutUp annals, revelations, poesy,And prophecy—except it should be datedSome years before the incidents related.

Praised be all liars and all lies! Who nowCan tax my mild Muse with misanthropy?She rings the world’s ‘Te Deum,’ and her browBlushes for those who will not:—but to sighIs idle; let us like most others bow,Kiss hands, feet, any part of majesty,After the good example of ‘Green Erin,’Whose shamrock now seems rather worse for wearing.

Don Juan was presented, and his dressAnd mien excited general admiration—I don’t know which was more admired or less:One monstrous diamond drew much observation,Which Catherine in a moment of ‘ivresse’(In love or brandy’s fervent fermentation)Bestow’d upon him, as the public learn’d;And, to say truth, it had been fairly earn’d.

Besides the ministers and underlings,Who must be courteous to the accreditedDiplomatists of rather wavering kings,Until their royal riddle ’s fully read,The very clerks,—those somewhat dirty springsOf office, or the house of office, fedBy foul corruption into streams,—even theyWere hardly rude enough to earn their pay:

And insolence no doubt is what they areEmploy’d for, since it is their daily labour,In the dear offices of peace or war;And should you doubt, pray ask of your next neighbour,When for a passport, or some other barTo freedom, he applied (a grief and a bore),If he found not his spawn of taxborn riches,Like lap-dogs, the least civil sons of b—s.

But Juan was received with much ‘empressement:’—These phrases of refinement I must borrowFrom our next neighbours’ land, where, like a chessman,There is a move set down for joy or sorrowNot only in mere talking, but the press. ManIn islands is, it seems, downright and thorough,More than on continents—as if the sea(See Billingsgate) made even the tongue more free.

And yet the British ‘Damme’ ’s rather Attic:Your continental oaths are but incontinent,And turn on things which no aristocraticSpirit would name, and therefore even I won’t anentThis subject quote; as it would be schismaticIn politesse, and have a sound affronting in ’t:—But ‘Damme’ ’s quite ethereal, though too daring—Platonic blasphemy, the soul of swearing.

For downright rudeness, ye may stay at home;For true or false politeness (and scarce thatNow) you may cross the blue deep and white foam—The first the emblem (rarely though) of whatYou leave behind, the next of much you comeTo meet. However, ’tis no time to chatOn general topics: poems must confineThemselves to unity, like this of mine.

In the great world,—which, being interpreted,Meaneth the west or worst end of a city,And about twice two thousand people bredBy no means to be very wise or witty,But to sit up while others lie in bed,And look down on the universe with pity,—Juan, as an inveterate patrician,Was well received by persons of condition.

He was a bachelor, which is a matterOf import both to virgin and to bride,The former’s hymeneal hopes to flatter;And (should she not hold fast by love or pride)’Tis also of some moment to the latter:A rib ’s a thorn in a wed gallant’s side,Requires decorum, and is apt to doubleThe horrid sin—and what ’s still worse, the trouble.

But Juan was a bachelor—of arts,And parts, and hearts: he danced and sung, and hadAn air as sentimental as Mozart’sSoftest of melodies; and could be sadOr cheerful, without any ‘flaws or starts,’Just at the proper time; and though a lad,Had seen the world—which is a curious sight,And very much unlike what people write.

Fair virgins blush’d upon him; wedded damesBloom’d also in less transitory hues;For both commodities dwell by the Thames,The painting and the painted; youth, ceruse,Against his heart preferr’d their usual claims,Such as no gentleman can quite refuse:Daughters admired his dress, and pious mothersInquired his income, and if he had brothers.

The milliners who furnish ‘drapery Misses’Throughout the season, upon speculationOf payment ere the honey-moon’s last kissesHave waned into a crescent’s coruscation,Thought such an opportunity as this is,Of a rich foreigner’s initiation,Not to be overlook’d—and gave such credit,That future bridegrooms swore, and sigh’d, and paid it.

The Blues, that tender tribe who sigh o’er sonnets,And with the pages of the last ReviewLine the interior of their heads or bonnets,Advanced in all their azure’s highest hue:They talk’d bad French or Spanish, and upon itsLate authors ask’d him for a hint or two;And which was softest, Russian or Castilian?And whether in his travels he saw Ilion?

Juan, who was a little superficial,And not in literature a great Drawcansir,Examined by this learned and especialJury of matrons, scarce knew what to answer:His duties warlike, loving or official,His steady application as a dancer,Had kept him from the brink of Hippocrene,Which now he found was blue instead of green.

However, he replied at hazard, withA modest confidence and calm assurance,Which lent his learned lucubrations pith,And pass’d for arguments of good endurance.That prodigy, Miss Araminta Smith(Who at sixteen translated ‘Hercules Furens’Into as furious English), with her best look,Set down his sayings in her common-place book.

Juan knew several languages—as wellHe might—and brought them up with skill, in timeTo save his fame with each accomplish’d belle,Who still regretted that he did not rhyme.There wanted but this requisite to swellHis qualities (with them) into sublime:Lady Fitz-Frisky, and Miss Maevia Mannish,Both long’d extremely to be sung in Spanish.

However, he did pretty well, and wasAdmitted as an aspirant to allThe coteries, and, as in Banquo’s glass,At great assemblies or in parties small,He saw ten thousand living authors pass,That being about their average numeral;Also the eighty ‘greatest living poets,’As every paltry magazine can show its.

In twice five years the ‘greatest living poet,’Like to the champion in the fisty ring,Is call’d on to support his claim, or show it,Although ’tis an imaginary thing.Even I—albeit I’m sure I did not know it,Nor sought of foolscap subjects to be king—Was reckon’d a considerable time,The grand Napoleon of the realms of rhyme.

But Juan was my Moscow, and FalieroMy Leipsic, and my Mount Saint Jean seems Cain:‘La Belle Alliance’ of dunces down at zero,Now that the Lion ’s fall’n, may rise again:But I will fall at least as fell my hero;Nor reign at all, or as a monarch reign;Or to some lonely isle of gaolers go,With turncoat Southey for my turnkey Lowe.

Sir Walter reign’d before me; Moore and CampbellBefore and after; but now grown more holy,The Muses upon Sion’s hill must rambleWith poets almost clergymen, or wholly;And Pegasus hath a psalmodic ambleBeneath the very Reverend Rowley Powley,Who shoes the glorious animal with stilts,A modern Ancient Pistol—by the hilts?

Then there’s my gentle Euphues, who, they say,Sets up for being a sort of moral me;He’ll find it rather difficult some dayTo turn out both, or either, it may be.Some persons think that Coleridge hath the sway;And Wordsworth has supporters, two or three;And that deep-mouth’d Boeotian ‘Savage Landor’Has taken for a swan rogue Southey’s gander.

John Keats, who was kill’d off by one critique,Just as he really promised something great,If not intelligible, without GreekContrived to talk about the gods of late,Much as they might have been supposed to speak.Poor fellow! His was an untoward fate;’Tis strange the mind, that very fiery particle,Should let itself be snuff’d out by an article.

The list grows long of live and dead pretendersTo that which none will gain—or none will knowThe conqueror at least; who, ere Time rendersHis last award, will have the long grass growAbove his burnt-out brain, and sapless cinders.If I might augur, I should rate but lowTheir chances; they’re too numerous, like the thirtyMock tyrants, when Rome’s annals wax’d but dirty.

This is the literary lower empire,Where the praetorian bands take up the matter;—A ‘dreadful trade,’ like his who ‘gathers samphire,’The insolent soldiery to soothe and flatter,With the same feelings as you’d coax a vampire.Now, were I once at home, and in good satire,I’d try conclusions with those Janizaries,And show them what an intellectual war is.

I think I know a trick or two, would turnTheir flanks;—but it is hardly worth my whileWith such small gear to give myself concern:Indeed I’ve not the necessary bile;My natural temper ’s really aught but stern,And even my Muse’s worst reproof ’s a smile;And then she drops a brief and modern curtsy,And glides away, assured she never hurts ye.

My Juan, whom I left in deadly perilAmongst live poets and blue ladies, pastWith some small profit through that field so sterile,Being tired in time, and, neither least nor last,Left it before he had been treated very ill;And henceforth found himself more gaily class’dAmongst the higher spirits of the day,The sun’s true son, no vapour, but a ray.

His morns he pass’d in business—which, dissected,Was like all business a laborious nothingThat leads to lassitude, the most infectedAnd Centaur Nessus garb of mortal clothing,And on our sofas makes us lie dejected,And talk in tender horrors of our loathingAll kinds of toil, save for our country’s good—Which grows no better, though ’tis time it should.

His afternoons he pass’d in visits, luncheons,Lounging and boxing; and the twilight hourIn riding round those vegetable puncheonsCall’d ‘Parks,’ where there is neither fruit nor flowerEnough to gratify a bee’s slight munchings;But after all it is the only ‘bower’(In Moore’s phrase), where the fashionable fairCan form a slight acquaintance with fresh air.

Then dress, then dinner, then awakes the world!Then glare the lamps, then whirl the wheels, then roarThrough street and square fast flashing chariots hurl’dLike harness’d meteors; then along the floorChalk mimics painting; then festoons are twirl’d;Then roll the brazen thunders of the door,Which opens to the thousand happy fewAn earthly paradise of ‘Or Molu.’

There stands the noble hostess, nor shall sinkWith the three-thousandth curtsy; there the waltz,The only dance which teaches girls to think,Makes one in love even with its very faults.Saloon, room, hall, o’erflow beyond their brink,And long the latest of arrivals halts,’Midst royal dukes and dames condemn’d to climb,And gain an inch of staircase at a time.

Thrice happy he who, after a surveyOf the good company, can win a corner,A door that’s in or boudoir out of the way,Where he may fix himself like small ‘Jack Horner,’And let the Babel round run as it may,And look on as a mourner, or a scorner,Or an approver, or a mere spectator,Yawning a little as the night grows later.

But this won’t do, save by and by; and heWho, like Don Juan, takes an active share,Must steer with care through all that glittering seaOf gems and plumes and pearls and silks, to whereHe deems it is his proper place to be;Dissolving in the waltz to some soft air,Or proudlier prancing with mercurial skillWhere Science marshals forth her own quadrille.

Or, if he dance not, but hath higher viewsUpon an heiress or his neighbour’s bride,Let him take care that that which he pursuesIs not at once too palpably descried.Full many an eager gentleman oft ruesHis haste: impatience is a blundering guide,Amongst a people famous for reflection,Who like to play the fool with circumspection.

But, if you can contrive, get next at supper;Or, if forestalled, get opposite and ogle:—O, ye ambrosial moments! always upperIn mind, a sort of sentimental bogle,Which sits for ever upon memory’s crupper,The ghost of vanish’d pleasures once in vogue! IllCan tender souls relate the rise and fallOf hopes and fears which shake a single ball.

But these precautionary hints can touchOnly the common run, who must pursue,And watch, and ward; whose plans a word too muchOr little overturns; and not the fewOr many (for the number’s sometimes such)Whom a good mien, especially if new,Or fame, or name, for wit, war, sense, or nonsense,Permits whate’er they please, or did not long since.

Our hero, as a hero, young and handsome,Noble, rich, celebrated, and a stranger,Like other slaves of course must pay his ransom,Before he can escape from so much dangerAs will environ a conspicuous man. SomeTalk about poetry, and ‘rack and manger,’And ugliness, disease, as toil and trouble;—I wish they knew the life of a young noble.

They are young, but know not youth—it is anticipated;Handsome but wasted, rich without a sou;Their vigour in a thousand arms is dissipated;Their cash comes from, their wealth goes to a Jew;Both senates see their nightly votes participatedBetween the tyrant’s and the tribunes’ crew;And having voted, dined, drunk, gamed, and whored,The family vault receives another lord.

‘Where is the world?’ cries Young, at eighty—‘WhereThe world in which a man was born? ‘Alas!Where is the world of eight years past? ’Twas there—I look for it—’tis gone, a globe of glass!Crack’d, shiver’d, vanish’d, scarcely gazed on, ereA silent change dissolves the glittering mass.Statesmen, chiefs, orators, queens, patriots, kings,And dandies, all are gone on the wind’s wings.

Where is Napoleon the Grand? God knows.Where little Castlereagh? The devil can tell:Where Grattan, Curran, Sheridan, all thoseWho bound the bar or senate in their spell?Where is the unhappy Queen, with all her woes?And where the Daughter, whom the Isles loved well?Where are those martyr’d saints the Five per Cents?And where—oh, where the devil are the rents?

Where’s Brummel? Dish’d. Where’s Long Pole Wellesley? Diddled.Where’s Whitbread? Romilly? Where’s George the Third?Where is his will? (That ’s not so soon unriddled.)And where is ‘Fum’ the Fourth, our ‘royal bird?’Gone down, it seems, to Scotland to be fiddledUnto by Sawney’s violin, we have heard:‘Caw me, caw thee’—for six months hath been hatchingThis scene of royal itch and loyal scratching.

Where is Lord This? And where my Lady That?The Honourable Mistresses and Misses?Some laid aside like an old Opera hat,Married, unmarried, and remarried (this isAn evolution oft performed of late).Where are the Dublin shouts—and London hisses?Where are the Grenvilles? Turn’d as usual. WhereMy friends the Whigs? Exactly where they were.

Where are the Lady Carolines and Franceses?Divorced or doing thereanent. Ye annalsSo brilliant, where the list of routs and dances is,—Thou Morning Post, sole record of the panelsBroken in carriages, and all the phantasiesOf fashion,—say what streams now fill those channels?Some die, some fly, some languish on the Continent,Because the times have hardly left them one tenant.

Some who once set their caps at cautious dukes,Have taken up at length with younger brothers:Some heiresses have bit at sharpers’ hooks:Some maids have been made wives, some merely mothers;Others have lost their fresh and fairy looks:In short, the list of alterations bothers.There’s little strange in this, but something strange isThe unusual quickness of these common changes.

Talk not of seventy years as age; in sevenI have seen more changes, down from monarchs toThe humblest individual under heaven,Than might suffice a moderate century through.I knew that nought was lasting, but now evenChange grows too changeable, without being new:Nought ’s permanent among the human race,Except the Whigs not getting into place.

I have seen Napoleon, who seem’d quite a Jupiter,Shrink to a Saturn. I have seen a Duke(No matter which) turn politician stupider,If that can well be, than his wooden look.But it is time that I should hoist my ‘blue Peter,’And sail for a new theme:—I have seen—and shookTo see it—the king hiss’d, and then caress’d;But don’t pretend to settle which was best.

I have seen the Landholders without a rap—I have seen Joanna Southcote—I have seen—The House of Commons turn’d to a tax-trap—I have seen that sad affair of the late Queen—I have seen crowns worn instead of a fool’s cap—I have seen a Congress doing all that ’s mean—I have seen some nations like o’erloaded assesKick off their burthens, meaning the high classes.

I have seen small poets, and great prosers, andInterminable—not eternal—speakers—I have seen the funds at war with house and land—I have seen the country gentlemen turn squeakers—I have seen the people ridden o’er like sandBy slaves on horseback—I have seen malt liquorsExchanged for ‘thin potations’ by John Bull—I have seen John half detect himself a fool.—

But ‘carpe diem,’ Juan, ‘carpe, carpe!’To-morrow sees another race as gayAnd transient, and devour’d by the same harpy.‘Life ’s a poor player,’—then ‘play out the play,Ye villains!’ above all keep a sharp eyeMuch less on what you do than what you say:Be hypocritical, be cautious, beNot what you seem, but always what you see.

But how shall I relate in other cantosOf what befell our hero in the land,Which ’tis the common cry and lie to vaunt asA moral country? But I hold my hand—For I disdain to write an Atalantis;But ’tis as well at once to understand,You are not a moral people, and you know itWithout the aid of too sincere a poet.

What Juan saw and underwent shall beMy topic, with of course the due restrictionWhich is required by proper courtesy;And recollect the work is only fiction,And that I sing of neither mine nor me,Though every scribe, in some slight turn of diction,Will hint allusions never meant. Ne’er doubtThis—when I speak, I don’t hint, but speak out.

Whether he married with the third or fourthOffspring of some sage husband-hunting countess,Or whether with some virgin of more worth(I mean in Fortune’s matrimonial bounties)He took to regularly peopling Earth,Of which your lawful awful wedlock fount is,—Or whether he was taken in for damages,For being too excursive in his homages,—

Is yet within the unread events of time.Thus far, go forth, thou lay, which I will backAgainst the same given quantity of rhyme,For being as much the subject of attackAs ever yet was any work sublime,By those who love to say that white is black.So much the better!—I may stand alone,But would not change my free thoughts for a throne.

Words in this poem 175

gladly adv.: Preferably; by choice. [From Glad, a.]
anon adv.: Straightway; at once. [OE. anoon, anon, anan, lit., in one (moment), fr. AS. on in + an one. See On and One.]
dainty n.: Value; estimation; the gratification or pleasure taken in anything. [OE. deinie, dainte, deintie, deyntee, OF. deintié delicacy, orig., dignity, honor, fr. L. dignitas, fr. dignus worthy. See Deign, and cf. Dignity.]
glorious a.: Exhibiting attributes, qualities, or acts that are worthy of or receive glory; noble; praiseworthy; excellent; splendid; illustrious; inspiring admiration; as, glorious deeds. [OF. glorios, glorious, F. glorieux, fr. L. gloriosus. See Glory, n.]
wording n.: The act or manner of expressing in words; style of expression; phrasing.
metaphysical a.: Of or pertaining to metaphysics. [Cf. F. métaphysique. See Metaphysics.]
perspicuous a.: Capable of being through; transparent; translucent; not opaque. [L. perspicuus, from perspicere to look through. See Perspective.]
phthisical a.: Of or pertaining to phthisis; affected with phthisis; wasting; consumptive. [L. phthisicus, Gr. phthisique. See Phthisis.]
illness n.: The condition of being ill, evil, or bad; badness; unfavorableness. [From Ill.]
devoutly adv.: In a devout and reverent manner; with devout emotions; piously.
acropolis n.: The upper part, or the citadel, of a Grecian city; especially, the citadel of Athens.
crockery n.: Earthenware; vessels formed of baked clay, especially the coarser kinds. [From Crock an earthen vessel.]
amidst prep.: In the midst or middle of; surrounded or encompassed by; among. [OE. amidde, amiddes, on midden, AS. on middan, in the middle, fr. midde the middle. The s is an adverbial ending, originally marking the genitive; the t is a la]
vale n.: A tract of low ground, or of land between hills; a valley. [OE. val, F. val, L. vallis; perhaps akin to Gr. Avalanche, Vail to lower, Valley.]
creak v. i.: To make a prolonged sharp grating or ssqueaking sound, as by the friction of hard substances; as, shoes creak. [OE. creken, prob. of imitative origin; cf. E. crack, and. D. kreiken to crackle, chirp.]
resurrection n.: A rising again; the resumption of vigor. [F. résurrection, L. resurrectio, fr. resurgere, resurrectum, to rise again; pref. re- re- + surgere to rise. See Source.]
inviolate a.: Not violated; uninjured; unhurt; unbroken. [L. inviolatus. See In- not, and Violate.]
damn v. t.: To condemn; to declare guilty; to doom; to adjudge to punishment; to sentence; to censhure. [OE. damnen dap), OF. damner, dampner, F. damner, fr. L. damnare, damnatum, to condemn, fr. damnum damage, a fine, penalty. Cf. Condemn, Damage.]
freeborn a.: Born free; not born in vasssalage; inheriting freedom.
handy a.: Performed by the hand. [OE. hendi, AS. hendig (in comp.), fr. hand hand; akin to D. handig, Goth. handugs clever, wise.]
reconnoitre v. t.: To examine with the eye to make a preliminary examination or survey of; esp., to survey with a view to military or engineering operations. [F. reconnoitre, a former spelling of reconnaître. See Recognize.]
fighter n.: One who fights; a combatant; a warrior. [AS. feohtere.]
isle v. t.: To cause to become an island, or like an island; to surround or encompass; to island.
shibboleth n.: A word which was made the criterion by which to distinguish the Ephraimites from the Gileadites. The Ephraimites, not being able to pronounce sh, called the word sibboleth. See Judges xii. [Heb. shibboleth an ear of corn, or a stream, a flood.]
salam n.: A salutation or compliment of ceremony in the east by word or act; an obeisance, performed by bowing very low and placing the right palm on the forehead. [Ar. salam peace, safety.]
henchman n.: An attendant; a servant; a follower. Now chiefly used as a political cant term. [OE. hencheman, henxman; prob. fr. OE. & AS. hengest horse + E. man, and meaning, a groom. AS. hengest is akin to D. & G. hengst stallion, OHG. hengist horse, ge]
frenchman n.: A native or one of the people of France.
suite n.: A retinue or company of attendants, as of a distinguished personage; as, the suite of an ambassador. See Suit, n., 5. [F. See Suit, n.]
recollect v. t.: To recover or recall the knowledge of; to bring back to the mind or memory; to remember. [Pref. re- + collect: cf. L. recolligere, recollectum, to collect. Cf. Recollet.]
cravat n.: A neckcloth; a piece of silk, fine muslin, or other cloth, worn by men about the neck. [F. cravate, fr. Cravate a Croat, an inhabitant of Croatia, one of a body of Austrian troops, from whom, in 1636, this article of dress was adopted in France.]
kiddy v. t.: To deceive; to outwit; to hoax. Dickens.
fairly adv.: In a fairmanner; clearly; openly; plainly; fully; distinctly; frankly.
apace adv.: With a quick pace; quick; fast; speedily. [Pref. a- + pace. OE. a pas at a walk, in which a is the article. See Pace.]
defence n.: The act of defending, or the state of being defended; protection, as from violence or danger. [F. défense, OF. defense, fem., defens, masc., fr. L. defensa (cf. Fence.]
hustle v. t.: To shake together in confusion; to push, jostle, or crowd rudely; to handle roughly; as, to hustle a person out of a room. [D. hustelen to shake, fr. husten to shake. Cf. Hotchpotch.]
nutty a.: Abounding in nuts.
modestly adv.: In a modest manner.
purl v. t.: To decorate with fringe or embroidery. [Contr. fr. purfile, purfle. See Purfle.]
chaise n.: A two-wheeled carriage for two persons, with a calash top, and the body hung on leather straps, or thoroughbraces. It is usually drawn by one horse. [F. chaise seat, or chair, chaise or carriage, for chaire, from a peculiar Parisian pronunciation. See Chair.]
multifarious a.: Having multiplicity; having great diversity or variety; of various kinds; diversified; made up of many differing parts; manifold. [L. multifarius; multus much, many. Cf. Bifarious.]
moonshine n.: The light of the moon.
albion n.: An ancient name of England, still retained in poetry. [Prob. from the same root as Gael. alp a height or hill. "It may have been bestowed on the land lying behind the white cliffs visible from the coast of Gaul. Alb]
bedlam n.: A place appropriated to the confinement and care of the insane; a madhouse. Abp. Tillotson. [See Bethlehem.]
mansion n.: A dwelling place, -- whether a part or whole of a house or other shelter. [OF. mansion, F. maison, fr. L. mansio a staying, remaining, a dwelling, habitation, fr. manere, mansum, to stay, dwell; akin to Gr. Manse, Manor, Menagerie, Men]
mall n.: A large heavy wooden beetle; a mallet for driving anything with force; a maul. [OE. malle, F. mail, L. malleus. Cf. Malleus.]
coruscation n.: A sudden flash or play of light. [L. coruscatio: cf. F. coruscattion.]
continent a.: Serving to restrain or limit; restraining; opposing. [L. continens, -entis, prop., p. pr. of continere to hold together, to repress: cf. F. continent. See Contain.]
recommence v. i.: To commence or begin again. Howell.
attorney n.: A substitute; a proxy; an agent. [OE. aturneye, OF. atorné, p. p. of atorner: cf. LL. atturnatus, attornatus, fr. attornare. See Attorn.]
broke v. i.: To transact business for another. Brome. [See Broker, and cf. Brook.]
sinner n.: One who has sinned; especially, one who has sinned without repenting; hence, a persistent and incorrigible transgressor; one condemned by the law of God.
drove n.: A collection of cattle driven, or cattle collected for driving; a number of animals, as oxen, sheep, or swine, driven in a body. [AS. draf, fr. drifan to drive. See Drive.]
clad v.: To clothe. Holland.
daylight n.: The light of day as opposed to the darkness of night; the light of the sun, as opposed to that of the moon or to artificial light.
favour n.: Kind regard; propitious aspect; countenance; friendly disposition; kindness; good will. [Written also favour.]
blazon v. t.: To depict in colors; to display; to exhibit conspicuously; to publish or make public far and wide. [From blazon, n.; confused with 4th blaze: cf. F. blasonner.]
graced a.: Endowed with grace; beautiful; full of graces; honorable.
rumour n.: A flying or popular report; the common talk; hence, public fame; notoriety. [F. rumeur, L. rumor; cf. rumificare, rumitare to rumor, Skr. ru to cry.]
excursive a.: Prone to make excursions; wandering; roving; exploring; as, an excursive fancy.
passionless a.: Void of passion; without anger or emotion; not easily excited; calm.
russ n.: A Russian, or the Russians.
credential a.: Giving a title or claim to credit or confidence; accrediting. [Cf. It. credenziale, fr. LL. credentia. See Credence.]
stripling n.: A youth in the state of adolescence, or just passing from boyhood to manhood; a lad. [Dim. of strip; as if a small strip from the main stock or steam.]
youngster n.: A young person; a youngling; a lad.
pounce n.: A fine powder, as of sandarac, or cuttlefish bone, -- formerly used to prevent ink from spreading on manuscript. [F. ponce pumice, pounce, fr. L. pumex, -icis, pumice. See Pumice.]
songster n.: One who sings; one skilled in singing; -- not often applied to human beings. [AS. sangestre a female singer.]
twill v. i.: To weave, as cloth, so as to produce the appearance of diagonal lines or ribs on the surface. [Scotch tweel; probably from LG. twillen to make double, from twi- two; akin to AS. twi-, E. twi- in twilight. See Twice, and cf. Tweed, Tweel.]
boldly adv.: In a bold manner. [AS. bealdlice.]
defy v. t.: To renounce or dissolve all bonds of affiance, faith, or obligation with; to reject, refuse, or renounce. [F. défier, OF. deffier, desfier, LL. disfidare to disown faith or fidelity, to dissolve the bond of allegiance, as between the vassal and his lord; hence, to ch]
annals n.: A relation of events in chronological order, each event being recorded under the year in which it happened. [L. annalis (sc. liber), and more frequently in the pl. annales (sc. libri), chronicles, fr. annus year. Cf. Annual.]
poesy n.: The art of composing poems; poetical skill or faculty; as, the heavenly gift of poesy. [F. poésie (cf. It. poesia), L. poesis, from Gr. Posy.]
misanthropy n.: Hatred of, or dislike to, mankind; -- opposed to philanthropy. [Gr. misanthropie.]
erin n.: An early, and now a poetic, name of Ireland. [Ir. Cf. Aryan.]
shamrock n.: A trifoliate plant used as a national emblem by the Irish. The legend is that St. Patrick once plucked a leaf of it for use in illustrating the doctrine of the trinity. [L. seamrog, seamar, trefoil, white clover, white honeysuckle; akin to Gael. seamrag.]
admiration n.: Wonder; astonishment. [F., fr. L. admiratio. See Admire.]
admired a.: Regarded with wonder and delight; highly prized; as, an admired poem.
fervent a.: Hot; glowing; boiling; burning; as, a fervent summer. [F. fervent, L. fervens, -entis. p.pr. of fervere o the boiling hot, to boil, glow.]
insolence n.: The quality of being unusual or novel. [F. insolence, L. insolentia. See Insolent.]
neighbour v. i.: To dwell in the vicinity; to be a neighbor, or in the neighborhood; to be near.
passport n.: Permission to pass; a document given by the competent officer of a state, permitting the person therein named to pass or travel from place to place, without molestation, by land or by water. [F. passeport, orig., a permission to leave a port or to sail into it; passer to pass + port a port, harbor. See Pass, and Port a harbor.]
empressement n.: Demonstrative warmth or cordiality of manner; display of enthusiasm.
borrow v. t.: To receive from another as a loan, with the implied or expressed intention of returning the identical article or its equivalent in kind; -- the opposite of lend. [OE. borwen, AS. borgian, fr. borg, borh, pledge; akin to D. borg, G. borg; prob. fr. root of AS. beorgan to protect. Borough.]
chessman n.: A piece used in the game of chess.
downright adv.: Straight down; perpendicularly.
billingsgate n.: A market near the Billings gate in London, celebrated for fish and foul language.
anent prep.: Over against; as, he lives anent the church. [OE. anent, anentis, anence, anens, anents, AS. onefen, onemn; an, on, on + efen even, equal; hence meaning, on an equality with, even with, beside. See Even, a.]
schismatic a.: Of or pertaining to schism; implying schism; partaking of the nature of schism; tending to schism; as, schismatic opinions or proposals. [L. schismaticus, Gr. schismatique.]
politeness n.: High finish; smoothness; burnished elegance. Evelyn.
scarce a.: Not plentiful or abundant; in small quantity in proportion to the demand; not easily to be procured; rare; uncommon. [OE. scars, OF. escars, eschars, LL. scarpsus, for L. excerptus, p. p. of excerpere to pick out, and hence to contract, to shorten; ex (see Ex-) + carpere. See C]
witty a.: Possessed of wit; knowing; wise; skillful; judicious; clever; cunning. [AS. witig, wittig. See Wit, n.]
inveterate a.: Old; long-established. [L. inveteratus, p. p. of inveterare to render old; pref. in- in + vetus, veteris, old. See Veteran.]
patrician a.: Of or pertaining to the Roman patres (fathers) or senators, or patricians. [L. patricius, fr. patres fathers or senators, pl. of pater: cf. F. patricien. See Paternal.]
hymeneal a.: Of or pertaining to marriage; as, hymeneal rites. [L. hymeneius, a., also Hymenaeus, n., Hymen, Gr. hyménéal, hyménéen.]
horrid a.: Rough; rugged; bristling. [L. horridus. See Horror, and cf. Ordure.]
sentimental a.: Having, expressing, or containing a sentiment or sentiments; abounding with moral reflections; containing a moral reflection; didactic. [Cf. F. sentimental.]
curious a.: Difficult to please or satisfy; solicitous to be correct; careful; scrupulous; nice; exact. [OF. curios, curius, F. curieux, L. curiosus careful, inquisitive, fr. cura care. See Cure.]
wedded a.: Joined in wedlock; married.
dwell v. i.: To delay; to linger. [OE. dwellen, dwelien, to err, linger, AS. dwellan to deceive, hinder, delay, dwelian to err; akin to Icel. dvelja to delay, tarry, Sw. dväljas to dwell, Dan. dv]
ceruse n.: White lead, used as a pigment. See White lead, under White. [F. céruse, L. cerussa.]
income n.: A coming in; entrance; admittance; ingress; infusion.
speculation n.: The act of speculating. Specifically: -- (a) Examination by the eye; view. [L. speculatio a spying out, observation: cf. F. spéculation.]
castilian n.: An inhabitant or native of Castile, in Spain. [Sp. castellano, from Castila, NL. Castilia, Castella. Castile, which received its name from the castles erected on the frontiers as a barrier against the Moors.]
drawcansir n.: A blustering, bullying fellow; a pot-valiant braggart; a bully. [From the name of a bullying braggart character in the play by George Villiers called "The Rehearsal."]
brink n.: The edge, margin, or border of a steep place, as of a precipice; a bank or edge, as of a river or pit; a verge; a border; as, the brink of a chasm. Also Fig. [Dan. brink edge, verge; akin to Sw. brink declivity, hill, Icel. brekka; cf. LG. brink a grassy hill, W. bryn hill, bryncyn hillock.]
hippocrene n.: A fountain on Mount Helicon in Boeotia, fabled to have burst forth when the ground was struck by the hoof of Pegasus. Also, its waters, which were supposed to impart poetic inspiration. Keats.
prodigy n.: Something extraordinary, or out of the usual course of nature, from which omens are drawn; a portent; as, eclipses and meteors were anciently deemed prodigies. [L. prodigium; pro before + (perh.) a word appearing in adagium adage: cf. F. prodige. Cf. Adage.]
belle n.: A young lady of superior beauty and attractions; a handsome lady, or one who attracts notice in society; a fair lady. [F. belle, fem. of bel, beau, beautiful, fine. See Beau.]
mannish a.: Resembling a human being in form or nature; human. [Man + -ish: cf. AS. mennisc, menisc.]
aspirant n.: One who aspires; one who eagerly seeks some high position or object of attainment. [Cf. F. aspirant.]
numeral a.: Of or pertaining to number; consisting of number or numerals. [L. numeralis, fr. numerus number: cf. F. numéral. See Number, n.]
albeit conj.: Even though; although; notwithstanding. [OE. al be although it be, where al is our all. Cf. Although.]
foolscap n.: A writing paper made in sheets, ordinarily 16 x 13 inches, and folded so as to make a page 13 x 8 inches. See Paper. [So called from the watermark of a fool's cap and bells used by old paper makers. See Fool's cap, under Fool.]
napoleon n.: A French gold coin of twenty francs, or about $3.86. [From the Emperor Napoleon 1.]
zero: A cipher; nothing; naught. [F. zéro, from Ar. çafrun, çifrun, empty, a cipher. Cf. Cipher.]
turncoat n.: One who forsakes his party or his principles; a renegade; an apostate.
turnkey n.: A person who has charge of the keys of a prison, for opening and fastening the doors; a warder.
walter v. i.: To roll or wallow; to welter. [Obs. or Prov. Eng. & Scot.] [See Welter.]
psalmodic a.: Relating to psalmody. [Cf. F. psalmodique.]
amble v. i.: To go at the easy gait called an amble; -- applied to the horse or to its rider. [F. ambler to amble, fr. L. ambulare to walk, in LL., to amble, perh. fr. amb-, ambi-, and a root meaning to go: cf. Gr. base. Cf. Ambulate.]
reverend a.: Worthy of reverence; entitled to respect mingled with fear and affection; venerable. [F. révérend, L. reverendus, fr. revereri. See Revere.]
boeotian a.: Of or pertaining to Boeotia; hence, stupid; dull; obtuse. [L. Boeotia, Gr. , noted for its moist, thick atmosphere, and the dullness and stupidity of its inhabitants.]
gander n.: The male of any species of goose. [AS. gandra, ganra, akin to Prov. G. gander, ganter, and E. goose, gannet. See Goose.]
critique v. t.: To criticise or pass judgment upon. [Cf. Critic, v.]
untoward a.: Froward; perverse. [Pref. un- not + toward.]
award v. t.: To give by sentence or judicial determination; to assign or apportion, after careful regard to the nature of the case; to adjudge; as, the arbitrators awarded damages to the complainant. [OF. eswarder to look at, consider, decide, judge; es (L. ex) + warder, garder, to observe, take heed, keep, fr. OHG. wart to watch, guard. See Ward.]
sapless a.: Destitute of sap; not juicy.
dreadful a.: Full of dread or terror; fearful.
soldiery n.: A body of soldiers; soldiers, collectivelly; the military.
soothe v. t.: To assent to as true. Testament of Love. [Originally, to assent to as true; OE. so to verify, AS. ges to prove the truth of, to bear witness. See Sooth, a.]
aught n.: Property; possession. [AS. , fr. agan to own, p. p. ahte.]
reproof n.: Refutation; confutation; contradiction. [OE. reproef. See Proof, Reprove.]
amongst prep.: Mixed or mingled; surrounded by. [OE. amongist, amonges, amonge, among, AS. onmang, ongemang, gemang, in a crowd or mixture. For the ending -st see Amidst. See Mingle.]
henceforth adv.: From this time forward; henceforward.
gaily adv.: Merrily; showily. See gaily. [From Gay.]
vapour n.: Any substance in the gaseous, or aëriform, state, the condition of which is ordinarily that of a liquid or solid. [OE. vapour, OF. vapour, vapor, vapeur, F. vapeur, L. vapor; probably for cvapor, and akin to Gr. kvepti to breathe, smell, Russ. kopote fine soot. Cf. Vapid.]
lassitude n.: A condition of the body, or mind, when its voluntary functions are performed with difficulty, and only by a strong exertion of the will; languor; debility; weariness. [L. lassitudo, fr. lassus faint, weary; akin to E. late: cf. F. lassitude. See Late.]
centaur n.: A fabulous being, represented as half man and half horse.
garb n.: External appearance, as expressive of the feelings or character; looks; fashion or manner, as of speech. [OF. garbe looks, countenance, grace, ornament, fr. OHG. garawi, garwi, ornament, dress. akin to E. gear. See Gear, n.]
glare v. i.: To shine with a bright, dazzling light. [OE. glaren, gloren; cf. AS. glær amber, LG. glaren to glow or burn like coals, D. gloren to glimmer; prob. akin to E. glass.]
hostess n.: A female host; a woman who hospitably entertains guests at her house. [OE. hostesse, ostesse. See Host a landlord.]
shall v. i.: To owe; to be under obligation for. [OE. shal, schal, imp. sholde, scholde, AS. scal, sceal, I am obliged, imp. scolde, sceolde, inf. sculan; akin to OS. skulan, pres. skal, imp. skolda, D. zullen,]
waltz n.: A dance performed by two persons in circular figures with a whirling motion; also, a piece of music composed in triple measure for this kind of dance. [G. walzer, from walzen to roll, revolve, dance, OHG. walzan to roll; akin to AS. wealtan. See Welter.]
boudoir n.: A small room, esp. if pleasant, or elegantly furnished, to which a lady may retire to be alone, or to receive intimate friends; a lady's (or sometimes a gentleman's) private room.
horner n.: One who works or deal in horn or horns. Grew.
babel n.: The city and tower in the land of Shinar, where the confusion of languages took place. [Heb. Babel, the name of the capital of Babylonia; in Genesis associated with the idea of "confusion"]
mourner n.: One who mourns or is grieved at any misfortune, as the death of a friend.
scorner n.: One who scorns; a despiser; a contemner; specifically, a scoffer at religion.
approver n.: A bailiff or steward; an agent. Jacobs. [See 2d Approve, v. t.]
quadrille n.: A dance having five figures, in common time, four couples of dancers being in each set. [F. quadrille, n. fem., fr. Sp. cuadrilla meeting of four or more persons or It. quadriglia a band of soldiers, a sort of dance; dim. fr. L. quadra a square, fr.]
heiress: , A female heir.
circumspection n.: Attention to all the facts and circumstances of a case; caution; watchfulness. [L. circumspectio.]
ogle v. t.: To view or look at with side glances, as in fondness, or with a design to attract notice. [From a Dutch word corresponding to G. äugeln to ogle, fr. auge eye; cf. D. ooglonken to ogle, OD. oogen to cast sheep's eyes upon, ooge eye. See Eye.]
ambrosial a.: Consisting of, or partaking of the nature of, ambrosia; delighting the taste or smell; delicious.
bogle n.: A goblin; a specter; a frightful phantom; a bogy; a bugbear. [Scot. and North Eng. bogle, bogill, bugill, specter; as a verb, to terrify, fr. W. bwgwl threatening, fear, bwg, bwgan, specter, hobgoblin. Cf. Bug.]
crupper n.: The buttocks or rump of a horse. [F. croupi, fr. croupe. See Croup the rump of a horse.]
ghost n.: The spirit; the soul of man. [OE. gast, gost, soul, spirit, AS. gast breath, spirit, soul; akin to OS. g spirit, soul, D. geest, G. geist, and prob. to E. gaze, ghastly.]
vogue n.: The way or fashion of people at any particular time; temporary mode, custom, or practice; popular reception for the time; -- used now generally in the phrase in vogue. [F. vogue a rowing, vogue, fashion, It. voga, fr. vogare to row, to sail; probably fr. OHG. wag to move, akin to E. way. Cf. Way.]
precautionary a.: Of or pertaining to precaution, or precautions; as, precautionary signals.
environ v. t.: To surround; to encompass; to encircle; to hem in; to be round about; to involve or envelop. [F. environner, fr. environ about, thereabout; pref. en- (L. in) + OF. viron circle, circuit, fr. OF. & F. virer to turn, LL. virare to turn up and down, topsy-t]
manger n.: A trough or open box in which fodder is placed for horses or cattle to eat. [F. mangeoire, fr. manger to eat, fr. L. manducare, fr. mandere to chew. Cf. Mandible, Manducate.]

Definitions and etymologies from Webster's Unabridged Dictionary, 1913; the first 160 of 175 words.

About this text

Canto XI is in the public domain. This text is taken from Don Juan, Project Gutenberg ebook #21700; the transcription's header, footer and licence were removed and nothing else was changed. You may copy, print and reuse it freely.

Cite as: Lord Byron, Canto XI, in Don Juan (1819–1824), text of Project Gutenberg ebook #21700, Laurel, https://laurelpoetry.com/poem/don-juan/canto-11.html, id L00012.

Form and metre

Canto XI is 712 lines in 89 stanzas of 8 lines each. Every stanza rhymes ABABABCC, the Ottava rima. The metre is iambic pentameter, measured from the stress the words themselves fix (confidence 85%). 94% of its stressed syllables fall where the metre puts the beat. The lines average 10.5 syllables. 258 lines end on an unstressed syllable, a feminine ending. 32% of the lines run on without a stop at the line end.

See other poems in ottava rima, other poems in iambic pentameter.

Measured by Laurel's pipeline, not copied from a handbook: how stress and metre are counted, how rhyme is lettered, how a drifted rhyme is found. Where the dictionary cannot confirm a rhyme the letter is withheld, not guessed.

Rhyme words, stanza by stanza

The word that ends each line, lettered by the rhyme it makes; a dash is a line whose rhyme the dictionary could not confirm.

1 ABABABCC matter^A · said^B · batter^A · head^B · shatter^A · lead^B · spirit^C · it^C
2 ABABABCC the^A · egotism^B · the^A · schism^B · thee^A · prism^B · spirit^C · it^C
3 ABABABCC indigestion^A · perplexes^B · question^A · vexes^B · on^A · sexes^B · wonder^C · blunder^C
4 ABABABCC according^A · should^B · wording^A · rude^B · affording^A · could^B · will^C · still^C
5 ABABABCC metaphysical^A · there^B · call^A · fair^B · phthisical^A · air^B · shocks^C · orthodox^C
6 ABABABCC divinity^A · devil^B · virginity^A · evil^B · trinity^A · level^B · four^C · more^C
7 ABABABCC acropolis^A · he^B · is^A · tea^B · metropolis^A · nineveh^B · appearance^C · hence^C
8 ABABABCC hill^A · declivity^B · ill^A · activity^B · still^A · he^B · hum^C · scum^C
9 ABABABCC contemplation^A · summit^B · nation^A · it^B · station^A · it^B · resurrection^C · election^C
10 ABABABCC pay^A · dear^B · away^A · year^B · lay^A · clear^B · knife^C · life^C
11 ABABABCC pads^A · loiter^B · lads^A · reconnoitre^B · gads^A · fighter^B · riches^C · breeches^C
12 ABABABCC word^A · damn^B · heard^A · salam^B · absurd^A · am^B · say^C · way^C
13 ABABABCC gesture^A · sudden^B · vesture^A · pudding^B · pasture^A · in^B · henchman^C · frenchman^C
14 ABABABCC speed^A · distance^B · deed^A · assistance^B · bleed^A · existence^B · lint^C · flint^C
15 ABABABCC wont^A · now^B · don't^A · bow^B · front^A · allow^B · road^C · load^C
16 ABABABCC duty^A · gruel^B · booty^A · fuel^B · sooty^A · ill^B · untied^C · died^C
17 ABABABCC down^A · tell^B · thrown^A · farewell^B · town^A · swell^B · diddled^C · riddled^C
18 ABABABCC could^A · case^B · pursued^A · apace^B · should^A · space^B · native^C · meditative^C
19 ABABABCC man^A · bustle^B · van^A · hustle^B · ban^A · muzzle^B · blowing^C · knowing^C
20 ABABABCC tom^A · tis^B · home^A · is^B · drum^A · miss^B · tons^C · once^C
21 ABABABCC trees^A · named^B · please^A · framed^B · ease^A · proclaim'd^B · paradise^C · sacrifice^C
22 ABABABCC whirl^A · confusion^B · purl^A · delusion^B · curl^A · infusion^B · glass^C · gas^C
23 ABABABCC approach^A · babylon^B · coach^A · one^B · encroach^A · sun^B · ridge^C · bridge^C
24 ABABABCC thamis^A · stream^B · damme's^A · gleam^B · is^A · beam^B · pile^C · isle^C
25 ABABABCC better^A · it^B · fetter^A · visit^B · debtor^A · it^B · erection^C · collection^C
26 ABABABCC cross^A · coruscation^B · dross^A · illumination^B · gloss^A · nation^B · lantern^C · turn^C
27 ABABABCC streets^A · mankind^B · seats^A · purblind^B · sheets^A · mind^B · frighten^C · enlighten^C
28 ABABABCC diogenes^A · man^B · progenies^A · span^B · his^A · can^B · journey^C · attorney^C
29 ABABABCC mall^A · thinner^B · spell^A · dinner^B · fell^A · sinner^B · hotels^C · hells^C
30 ABABABCC door^A · around^B · score^A · abound^B · o'er^A · found^B · marriage^C · carriage^C
31 ABABABCC hotels^A · mostly^B · swells^A · costly^B · dwells^A · lie^B · pass^C · brass^C
32 ABABABCC commission^A · bore^B · precision^A · o'er^B · mission^A · shore^B · said^C · head^C
33 ABABABCC adventures^A · loves^B · painters^A · roves^B · indentures^A · moves^B · fashion^C · passion^C
34 ABABABCC quite^A · head^B · bright^A · instead^B · site^A · lead^B · start^C · heart^C
35 ABABABCC place^A · credential^B · grimace^A · potential^B · face^A · essential^B · youngster^C · songster^C
36 ABABABCC by^A · don't^B · high^A · front^B · lie^A · won't^B · it^C · it^C
37 ABABABCC but^A · defy^B · put^A · lie^B · shut^A · poesy^B · dated^C · related^C
38 ABABABCC now^A · misanthropy^B · brow^A · sigh^B · bow^A · majesty^B · erin^C · wearing^C
39 ABABABCC dress^A · admiration^B · less^A · observation^B · ivresse^A · fermentation^B · learn'd^C · earn'd^C
40 ABABABCC underlings^A · accredited^B · kings^A · read^B · springs^A · fed^B · they^C · pay^C
41 ABABABCC are^A · labour^B · war^A · neighbour^B · bar^A · bore^B · riches^C · s^C
42 ABABABCC empressement^A · borrow^B · chessman^A · sorrow^B · man^A · thorough^B · sea^C · free^C
43 ABABABCC attic^A · incontinent^B · aristocratic^A · anent^B · schismatic^A · t^B · daring^C · swearing^C
44 ABABABCC home^A · that^B · foam^A · what^B · come^A · chat^B · confine^C · mine^C
45 ABABABCC interpreted^A · city^B · bred^A · witty^B · bed^A · pity^B · patrician^C · condition^C
46 ABABABCC matter^A · bride^B · flatter^A · pride^B · latter^A · side^B · double^C · trouble^C
47 ABABABCC arts^A · had^B · mozart's^A · sad^B · starts^A · lad^B · sight^C · write^C
48 ABABABCC dames^A · hues^B · thames^A · ceruse^B · claims^A · refuse^B · mothers^C · brothers^C
49 ABABABCC misses^A · speculation^B · kisses^A · coruscation^B · is^A · initiation^B · credit^C · it^C
50 ABABABCC sonnets^A · review^B · bonnets^A · hue^B · its^A · two^B · castilian^C · ilion^C
51 ABABABCC superficial^A · drawcansir^B · especial^A · answer^B · official^A · dancer^B · hippocrene^C · green^C
52 ABABABCC with^A · assurance^B · pith^A · endurance^B · smith^A · furens^B · look^C · book^C
53 ABABABCC well^A · time^B · belle^A · rhyme^B · swell^A · sublime^B · mannish^C · spanish^C
54 ABABABCC was^A · all^B · glass^A · small^B · pass^A · numeral^B · poets^C · its^C
55 ABABABCC poet^A · ring^B · it^A · thing^B · it^A · king^B · time^C · rhyme^C
56 ABABABCC faliero^A · cain^B · zero^A · again^B · hero^A · reign^B · go^C · lowe^C
57 ABABABCC campbell^A · holy^B · ramble^A · wholly^B · amble^A · powley^B · stilts^C · hilts^C
58 ABABABCC say^A · me^B · day^A · be^B · sway^A · three^B · landor^C · gander^C
59 ABABABCC critique^A · great^B · greek^A · late^B · speak^A · fate^B · particle^C · article^C
60 ABABABCC pretenders^A · know^B · renders^A · grow^B · cinders^A · low^B · thirty^C · dirty^C
61 ABABABCC empire^A · matter^B · samphire^A · flatter^B · vampire^A · satire^B · janizaries^C · is^C
62 ABABABCC turn^A · while^B · concern^A · bile^B · stern^A · smile^B · curtsy^C · ye^C
63 ABABABCC peril^A · past^B · sterile^A · last^B · ill^A · class'd^B · day^C · ray^C
64 ABABABCC dissected^A · nothing^B · infected^A · clothing^B · dejected^A · loathing^B · good^C · should^C
65 ABABABCC luncheons^A · hour^B · puncheons^A · flower^B · munchings^A · bower^B · fair^C · air^C
66 ABABABCC world^A · roar^B · hurl'd^A · floor^B · twirl'd^A · door^B · few^C · molu^C
67 ABABABCC sink^A · waltz^B · think^A · faults^B · brink^A · halts^B · climb^C · time^C
68 ABABABCC survey^A · corner^B · way^A · horner^B · may^A · scorner^B · spectator^C · later^C
69 ABABABCC he^A · share^B · sea^A · where^B · be^A · air^B · skill^C · quadrille^C
70 ABABABCC views^A · bride^B · pursues^A · descried^B · rues^A · guide^B · reflection^C · circumspection^C
71 ABABABCC supper^A · ogle^B · upper^A · bogle^B · crupper^A · ill^B · fall^C · ball^C
72 ABABABCC touch^A · pursue^B · much^A · few^B · such^A · new^B · nonsense^C · since^C
73 ABABABCC handsome^A · stranger^B · ransom^A · danger^B · some^A · manger^B · trouble^C · noble^C
74 ABABABCC anticipated^A · sou^B · dissipated^A · jew^B · participated^A · crew^B · whored^C · lord^C
75 ABABABCC where^A · alas^B · there^A · glass^B · ere^A · mass^B · kings^C · wings^C
76 ABABABCC knows^A · tell^B · those^A · spell^B · woes^A · well^B · cents^C · rents^C
77 ABABABCC diddled^A · third^B · unriddled^A · bird^B · fiddled^A · heard^B · hatching^C · scratching^C
78 ABABABCC that^A · misses^B · hat^A · is^B · late^A · hisses^B · where^C · were^C
79 ABABABCC franceses^A · annals^B · is^A · panels^B · phantasies^A · channels^B · continent^C · tenant^C
80 ABABABCC dukes^A · brothers^B · hooks^A · mothers^B · looks^A · bothers^B · is^C · changes^C
81 ABABABCC seven^A · to^B · heaven^A · through^B · even^A · new^B · race^C · place^C
82 ABABABCC jupiter^A · duke^B · stupider^A · look^B · peter^A · shook^B · caress'd^C · best^C
83 ABABABCC rap^A · seen^B · trap^A · queen^B · cap^A · mean^B · asses^C · classes^C
84 ABABABCC and^A · speakers^B · land^A · squeakers^B · sand^A · liquors^B · bull^C · fool^C
85 ABABABCC carpe^A · gay^B · harpy^A · play^B · eye^A · say^B · be^C · see^C
86 ABABABCC cantos^A · land^B · as^A · hand^B · atalantis^A · understand^B · it^C · poet^C
87 ABABABCC be^A · restriction^B · courtesy^A · fiction^B · me^A · diction^B · doubt^C · out^C
88 ABABABCC fourth^A · countess^B · worth^A · bounties^B · earth^A · is^B · damages^C · homages^C
89 ABABABCC time^A · back^B · rhyme^A · attack^B · sublime^A · black^B · alone^C · throne^C

Scansion, line by line

Each line with its syllable count and the stresses the words themselves fix: / stressed, ˘ unstressed, · a syllable the word leaves free and the metre decides. Read against iambic pentameter. How this is done.

Line	Syl.	Stress
When Bishop Berkeley said ‘there was no matter,’	11	·/˘/˘····/˘
And proved it—’twas no matter what he said:	10	·····/˘···
They say his system ’tis in vain to batter,	11	···/˘····/˘
Too subtle for the airiest human head;	10	·/˘····/˘·
And yet who can believe it? I would shatter	11	····˘/···/˘
Gladly all matters down to stone or lead,	10	/˘·/˘·····
Or adamant, to find the world a spirit,	11	·/˘˘·····/˘
And wear my head, denying that I wear it.	11	····˘/˘····
What a sublime discovery ’twas to make the	11	··˘/˘/˘····
Universe universal egotism,	11	/˘··˘/˘/˘·˘
That all ’s ideal—all ourselves: I’ll stake the	11	···˘/·˘/···
World (be it what you will) that that ’s no schism.	12	··········/˘
O Doubt!—if thou be’st Doubt, for which some take thee;	11	···········
But which I doubt extremely—thou sole prism	11	····˘/˘··/˘
Of the Truth’s rays, spoil not my draught of spirit!	11	·········/˘
Heaven’s brandy, though our brain can hardly bear it.	12	/˘/˘·/··/˘··
For ever and anon comes Indigestion,	11	·/˘·˘/··˘/˘
(Not the most ‘dainty Ariel’) and perplexes	11	···/˘/˘·˘/˘
Our soarings with another sort of question:	11	//˘·˘/˘··/˘
And that which after all my spirit vexes,	10	·······/··
Is, that I find no spot where man can rest eye on,	12	············
Without confusion of the sorts and sexes,	11	··˘/˘····/˘
Of beings, stars, and this unriddled wonder,	10	·/˘·····/˘
The world, which at the worst ’s a glorious blunder—	12	········/˘/˘
If it be chance; or if it be according	11	········˘/˘
To the old text, still better:—lest it should	10	·····/˘···
Turn out so, we’ll say nothing ’gainst the wording,	11	·····/˘··/˘
As several people think such hazards rude.	10	·/˘/˘··/˘·
They’re right; our days are too brief for affording	11	··/·····˘/˘
Space to dispute what no one ever could	10	··˘/···/˘·
Decide, and every body one day will	10	˘/·/˘/˘···
Know very clearly—or at least lie still.	10	·/˘/˘·····
And therefore will I leave off metaphysical	11	········˘/˘
Discussion, which is neither here nor there:	10	˘/˘··/˘···
If I agree that what is, is; then this I call	12	··˘/········
Being quite perspicuous and extremely fair;	11	/·˘/˘˘·˘/˘·
The truth is, I’ve grown lately rather phthisical:	12	·····/˘/˘/˘˘
I don’t know what the reason is—the air	10	·····/˘···
Perhaps; but as I suffer from the shocks	10	˘/···/˘···
Of illness, I grow much more orthodox.	10	·/˘····/˘·
The first attack at once proved the Divinity	11	··˘/····˘/˘
(But that I never doubted, nor the Devil);	11	···/˘/˘··/˘
The next, the Virgin’s mystical virginity;	11	···/˘/˘˘/˘˘
The third, the usual Origin of Evil;	10	···/˘/˘˘·/
The fourth at once establish’d the whole Trinity	11	····˘/˘··/˘
On so uncontrovertible a level,	7	·····/˘
That I devoutly wish’d the three were four,	10	··˘/˘·····
On purpose to believe so much the more.	10	·/˘·˘/····
To our Theme.—The man who has stood on the Acropolis,	13	·/········˘/˘
And look’d down over Attica; or he	10	·····/˘˘··
Who has sail’d where picturesque Constantinople is,	11	····/˘·˘/˘·
Or seen Timbuctoo, or hath taken tea	10	·······/˘·
In small-eyed China’s crockery-ware metropolis,	11	···/˘/˘·˘/˘
Or sat amidst the bricks of Nineveh,	10	··˘/···/˘˘
May not think much of London’s first appearance—	11	·····/˘·˘/˘
But ask him what he thinks of it a year hence?	11	···········
Don Juan had got out on Shooter’s Hill;	10	·······/˘·
Sunset the time, the place the same declivity	12	/·······˘/˘˘
Which looks along that vale of good and ill	10	··˘/······
Where London streets ferment in full activity;	11	·/˘·˘/··˘/˘
While every thing around was calm and still,	10	·/˘·······
Except the creak of wheels, which on their pivot he	12	·········/˘·
Heard,—and that bee-like, bubbling, busy hum	10	·····/˘/˘·
Of cities, that boil over with their scum:—	10	·/˘·······
I say, Don Juan, wrapt in contemplation,	11	········˘/˘
Walk’d on behind his carriage, o’er the summit,	11	·····/˘··/˘
And lost in wonder of so great a nation,	11	···/˘····/˘
Gave way to ’t, since he could not overcome it.	12	········/˘··
‘And here,’ he cried, ‘is Freedom’s chosen station;	11	·····/˘/˘/˘
Here peals the people’s voice, nor can entomb it	11	···/˘···˘/·
Racks, prisons, inquisitions; resurrection	11	·/˘·˘/˘·˘/˘
Awaits it, each new meeting or election.	11	˘/···/˘·˘/˘
‘Here are chaste wives, pure lives; here people pay	10	·······/˘·
But what they please; and if that things be dear,	10	··········
’Tis only that they love to throw away	10	·/˘·····˘/
Their cash, to show how much they have a-year.	10	··········
Here laws are all inviolate; none lay	10	····˘/˘˘··
Traps for the traveller; every highway ’s clear:	11	···/˘/˘/···
Here—’ he was interrupted by a knife,	10	····˘/˘···
With,—‘Damn your eyes! your money or your life!’	10	·····/˘···
These freeborn sounds proceeded from four pads	10	·/˘·˘/˘···
In ambush laid, who had perceived him loiter	11	·/····˘/·/˘
Behind his carriage; and, like handy lads,	10	···/˘··/˘·
Had seized the lucky hour to reconnoitre,	11	···/˘/··˘/˘
In which the heedless gentleman who gads	10	···/˘/˘˘··
Upon the road, unless he prove a fighter,	11	·········/˘
May find himself within that isle of riches	11	··˘/·····/˘
Exposed to lose his life as well as breeches.	11	˘/·······/˘
Juan, who did not understand a word	10	······˘/··
Of English, save their shibboleth, ‘God damn!’	10	·/˘··/˘···
And even that he had so rarely heard,	10	·/˘····/˘·
He sometimes thought ’twas only their ‘Salam,’	10	·/···/˘·˘/
Or ‘God be with you!’—and ’tis not absurd	10	········˘/
To think so: for half English as I am	10	·····/˘···
(To my misfortune), never can I say	10	··˘/˘/˘···
I heard them wish ‘God with you,’ save that way;—	10	··········
Juan yet quickly understood their gesture,	11	···/˘·˘/·/˘
And being somewhat choleric and sudden,	11	·/˘///˘˘·/˘
Drew forth a pocket pistol from his vesture,	11	···/˘/˘··/˘
And fired it into one assailant’s pudding—	11	·/····˘/˘/˘
Who fell, as rolls an ox o’er in his pasture,	11	·········/˘
And roar’d out, as he writhed his native mud in,	11	·······/˘··
Unto his nearest follower or henchman,	11	···/˘/˘˘·/˘
‘Oh Jack! I’m floor’d by that ’ere bloody Frenchman!’	11	·······/˘/˘
On which Jack and his train set off at speed,	10	··········
And Juan’s suite, late scatter’d at a distance,	10	····/˘··/˘
Came up, all marvelling at such a deed,	10	···˘/˘····
And offering, as usual, late assistance.	11	·/˘·/˘˘·˘/˘
Juan, who saw the moon’s late minion bleed	10	·······/˘·
As if his veins would pour out his existence,	11	········˘/˘
Stood calling out for bandages and lint,	10	·/˘··/˘˘··
And wish’d he had been less hasty with his flint.	11	······/˘···
‘Perhaps,’ thought he, ‘it is the country’s wont	10	˘/·····/˘·
To welcome foreigners in this way: now	10	·/˘/˘˘····
I recollect some innkeepers who don’t	10	··˘/·/·˘··
Differ, except in robbing with a bow,	10	/˘···/˘···
In lieu of a bare blade and brazen front.	10	·······/˘·
But what is to be done? I can’t allow	10	········˘/
The fellow to lie groaning on the road:	10	·/˘··/˘···
So take him up; I’ll help you with the load.’	10	··········
But ere they could perform this pious duty,	11	····˘/·/˘/˘
The dying man cried, ‘Hold! I’ve got my gruel!	11	·/˘······/˘
O for a glass of max! We’ve miss’d our booty;	11	········//˘
Let me die where I am!’ And as the fuel	11	·········/˘
Of life shrunk in his heart, and thick and sooty	11	·········/˘
The drops fell from his death-wound, and he drew ill	11	···········
His breath,—he from his swelling throat untied	10	·····/˘·˘/
A kerchief, crying, ‘Give Sal that!’—and died.	10	·/˘/˘·····
The cravat stain’d with bloody drops fell down	10	·˘/··/˘···
Before Don Juan’s feet: he could not tell	9	·········
Exactly why it was before him thrown,	10	˘/˘·······
Nor what the meaning of the man’s farewell.	10	···/˘····/
Poor Tom was once a kiddy upon town,	10	·····/˘···
A thorough varmint, and a real swell,	9	·/˘/˘····
Full flash, all fancy, until fairly diddled,	10	···/˘··/˘·
His pockets first and then his body riddled.	11	·/˘····/˘/˘
Don Juan, having done the best he could	10	···/˘·····
In all the circumstances of the case,	10	···/˘·˘···
As soon as ‘Crowner’s quest’ allow’d, pursued	10	···/˘·˘/˘/
His travels to the capital apace;—	10	·/˘··/˘˘˘/
Esteeming it a little hard he should	10	˘/˘··/˘···
In twelve hours’ time, and very little space,	10	·····/˘/˘·
Have been obliged to slay a freeborn native	11	··˘/···/˘/˘
In self-defence: this made him meditative.	11	··˘/···/˘·˘
He from the world had cut off a great man,	10	··········
Who in his time had made heroic bustle.	11	······˘/˘/˘
Who in a row like Tom could lead the van,	10	··········
Booze in the ken, or at the spellken hustle?	11	·······/˘/˘
Who queer a flat? Who (spite of Bow Street’s ban)	10	··········
On the high toby-spice so flash the muzzle?	11	···/˘····/˘
Who on a lark, with black-eyed Sal (his blowing),	11	·········/˘
So prime, so swell, so nutty, and so knowing?	11	·····/˘··/˘
But Tom’s no more—and so no more of Tom.	10	··········
Heroes must die; and by God’s blessing ’tis	10	/˘·····/˘·
Not long before the most of them go home.	10	··········
Hail! Thamis, Hail! Upon thy verge it is	10	··········
That Juan’s chariot, rolling like a drum	10	··/˘˘/˘···
In thunder, holds the way it can’t well miss,	10	·/˘·······
Through Kennington and all the other ‘tons,’	10	·/˘˘···/˘·
Which makes us wish ourselves in town at once;—	10	····˘/····
Through Groves, so call’d as being void of trees	10	·····/˘···
(Like lucus from no light); through prospects named	10	·/˘····/˘·
Mount Pleasant, as containing nought to please,	10	·/˘·˘/˘···
Nor much to climb; through little boxes framed	10	·····/˘/˘·
Of bricks, to let the dust in at your ease,	10	··········
With ‘To be let’ upon their doors proclaim’d;	10	········˘/
Through ‘Rows’ most modestly call’d ‘Paradise,’	10	···/˘˘·/˘·
Which Eve might quit without much sacrifice;—	10	·······/˘·
Through coaches, drays, choked turnpikes, and a whirl	10	·/˘··/····
Of wheels, and roar of voices, and confusion;	11	·····/˘·˘/˘
Here taverns wooing to a pint of ‘purl,’	10	·/˘/˘·····
There mails fast flying off like a delusion;	11	···/˘···˘/˘
There barbers’ blocks with periwigs in curl	10	·/˘·······
In windows; here the lamplighter’s infusion	11	·/˘··/·˘˘/˘
Slowly distill’d into the glimmering glass	10	/˘˘/···/˘·
(For in those days we had not got to gas);—	10	··········
Through this, and much, and more, is the approach	10	········˘/
Of travellers to mighty Babylon:	10	·/˘˘·/˘/˘·
Whether they come by horse, or chaise, or coach,	10	··········
With slight exceptions, all the ways seem one.	10	··˘/˘·····
I could say more, but do not choose to encroach	11	·········˘/
Upon the Guide-book’s privilege. The sun	9	·····/˘··
Had set some time, and night was on the ridge	10	··········
Of twilight, as the party cross’d the bridge,—	10	·/···/˘···
That ’s rather fine. The gentle sound of Thamis—	12	··/˘··/˘····
Who vindicates a moment, too, his stream,	10	·/˘··/˘···
Though hardly heard through multifarious ‘damme’s’—	10	·/˘·······
The lamps of Westminster’s more regular gleam,	10	····/˘·/˘·
The breadth of pavement, and yon shrine where fame is	11	···/˘······
A spectral resident—whose pallid beam	10	·/˘/˘˘·/˘·
In shape of moonshine hovers o’er the pile—	10	···/·/˘···
Make this a sacred part of Albion’s isle.	10	···/˘··/˘·
The Druids’ groves are gone—so much the better:	11	·/˘······/˘
Stone-Henge is not—but what the devil is it?—	10	·······/··
But Bedlam still exists with its sage fetter,	11	·/˘·˘/···/˘
That madmen may not bite you on a visit;	11	·/˘······/˘
The Bench too seats or suits full many a debtor;	11	·······/·/˘
The Mansion House too (though some people quiz it)	11	·/˘····/˘··
To me appears a stiff yet grand erection;	11	··˘/····˘/˘
But then the Abbey ’s worth the whole collection.	12	···/˘····˘/˘
The line of lights, too, up to Charing Cross,	10	·······/˘·
Pall Mall, and so forth, have a coruscation	11	···········
Like gold as in comparison to dross,	10	····˘/˘˘··
Match’d with the Continent’s illumination,	11	···/˘˘˘·˘/˘
Whose cities Night by no means deigns to gloss.	10	·/˘·······
The French were not yet a lamp-lighting nation,	11	·······/˘/˘
And when they grew so—on their new-found lantern,	11	·········/˘
Instead of wicks, they made a wicked man turn.	11	˘/·····/˘··
A row of gentlemen along the streets	10	···/˘˘˘/··
Suspended may illuminate mankind,	10	˘/˘·˘/˘˘//
As also bonfires made of country seats;	10	·/˘/˘··/˘·
But the old way is best for the purblind:	10	········/˘
The other looks like phosphorus on sheets,	10	·/˘··/˘˘··
A sort of ignis fatuus to the mind,	10	··········
Which, though ’tis certain to perplex and frighten,	11	···/˘·˘/·/˘
Must burn more mildly ere it can enlighten.	11	···/˘···˘/˘
But London ’s so well lit, that if Diogenes	13	·/˘······˘/˘˘
Could recommence to hunt his honest man,	10	·······/˘·
And found him not amidst the various progenies	11	····˘/·/˘/˘
Of this enormous city’s spreading span,	10	··˘/˘/˘/˘·
’Twere not for want of lamps to aid his dodging his	12	·········/˘·
Yet undiscover’d treasure. What I can,	10	··˘/˘/˘···
I’ve done to find the same throughout life’s journey,	11	·········/˘
But see the world is only one attorney.	11	·····/˘·˘/˘
Over the stones still rattling up Pall Mall,	10	·····/˘···
Through crowds and carriages, but waxing thinner	11	···/˘˘·/˘/˘
As thunder’d knockers broke the long seal’d spell	10	·/˘·······
Of doors ’gainst duns, and to an early dinner	11	·······/˘/˘
Admitted a small party as night fell,—	10	˘/˘··/˘···
Don Juan, our young diplomatic sinner,	11	···/··˘/˘/˘
Pursued his path, and drove past some hotels,	10	˘/······˘/
St. James’s Palace and St. James’s ‘Hells.’	10	·/˘/˘··/˘·
They reach’d the hotel: forth stream’d from the front door	11	···˘/······
A tide of well-clad waiters, and around	10	·····/˘···
The mob stood, and as usual several score	10	·····/˘/˘·
Of those pedestrian Paphians who abound	10	··˘/˘···˘/
In decent London when the daylight ’s o’er;	11	·/˘/˘··/···
Commodious but immoral, they are found	10	˘/˘·˘/˘···
Useful, like Malthus, in promoting marriage.—	11	/˘····˘/˘/˘
But Juan now is stepping from his carriage	11	·····/˘··/˘
Into one of the sweetest of hotels,	10	·····/˘·˘/
Especially for foreigners—and mostly	10	˘/˘·/˘˘·/˘
For those whom favour or whom fortune swells,	10	···/˘··/˘·
And cannot find a bill’s small items costly.	11	·/˘····/˘/˘
There many an envoy either dwelt or dwells	10	·/·/˘/˘···
(The den of many a diplomatic lost lie),	11	···/··˘/˘··
Until to some conspicuous square they pass,	10	····˘/˘···
And blazon o’er the door their names in brass.	10	·/˘·······
Juan, whose was a delicate commission,	11	·····/˘˘˘/˘
Private, though publicly important, bore	10	/˘·/˘˘˘/˘·
No title to point out with due precision	11	·/˘·····˘/˘
The exact affair on which he was sent o’er.	11	·˘/˘/······
’Twas merely known, that on a secret mission	11	·/˘····/˘/˘
A foreigner of rank had graced our shore,	10	·/˘˘····/·
Young, handsome, and accomplish’d, who was said	10	·/˘·˘/˘···
(In whispers) to have turn’d his sovereign’s head.	10	·/˘····/˘·
Some rumour also of some strange adventures	11	··˘/˘···˘/˘
Had gone before him, and his wars and loves;	10	··········
And as romantic heads are pretty painters,	11	··˘/˘··/˘/˘
And, above all, an Englishwoman’s roves	10	·····/˘·˘·
Into the excursive, breaking the indentures	12	···˘/˘/˘·˘/˘
Of sober reason wheresoe’er it moves,	10	·/˘/˘·····
He found himself extremely in the fashion,	11	··˘/˘/˘··/˘
Which serves our thinking people for a passion.	11	··//˘/˘··/˘
I don’t mean that they are passionless, but quite	11	······/˘˘··
The contrary; but then ’tis in the head;	10	·˘/˘······
Yet as the consequences are as bright	10	···/˘·˘···
As if they acted with the heart instead,	10	···/˘···˘/
What after all can signify the site	10	·····/˘···
Of ladies’ lucubrations? So they lead	10	·/········
In safety to the place for which you start,	10	·/˘·······
What matters if the road be head or heart?	10	·/˘·······
Juan presented in the proper place,	10	··˘/˘··/˘·
To proper placemen, every Russ credential;	12	·/˘···/˘·˘/˘
And was received with all the due grimace	10	··˘/····/˘
By those who govern in the mood potential,	11	···/˘···˘/˘
Who, seeing a handsome stripling with smooth face,	10	·/·/˘/˘···
Thought (what in state affairs is most essential)	11	····˘/··˘/˘
That they as easily might do the youngster,	11	···/˘˘···/˘
As hawks may pounce upon a woodland songster.	11	·······/·/˘
They err’d, as aged men will do; but by	9	·········
And by we’ll talk of that; and if we don’t,	10	··········
’Twill be because our notion is not high	10	····//˘···
Of politicians and their double front,	10	··˘/˘··/˘·
Who live by lies, yet dare not boldly lie:—	10	·······/˘·
Now what I love in women is, they won’t	10	·····/˘···
Or can’t do otherwise than lie, but do it	11	···/˘······
So well, the very truth seems falsehood to it.	11	···/˘··/···
And, after all, what is a lie? ’Tis but	10	··········
The truth in masquerade; and I defy	10	····˘/··˘/
Historians, heroes, lawyers, priests, to put	10	˘/˘/˘/˘···
A fact without some leaven of a lie.	10	·····/˘···
The very shadow of true Truth would shut	10	·/˘/······
Up annals, revelations, poesy,	10	·/˘·˘/˘/˘˘
And prophecy—except it should be dated	11	·/˘˘·····/˘
Some years before the incidents related.	11	·····/˘˘˘/˘
Praised be all liars and all lies! Who now	10	···/˘·····
Can tax my mild Muse with misanthropy?	10	······˘/˘˘
She rings the world’s ‘Te Deum,’ and her brow	9	·········
Blushes for those who will not:—but to sigh	10	/˘········
Is idle; let us like most others bow,	10	·/˘····/˘·
Kiss hands, feet, any part of majesty,	10	···/˘··/˘˘
After the good example of ‘Green Erin,’	11	····˘/˘··/˘
Whose shamrock now seems rather worse for wearing.	11	·/···/˘··/˘
Don Juan was presented, and his dress	10	····˘/˘···
And mien excited general admiration—	11	··˘/˘/˘·˘/˘
I don’t know which was more admired or less:	10	······˘/··
One monstrous diamond drew much observation,	11	·/˘/˘···˘/˘
Which Catherine in a moment of ‘ivresse’	10	·/˘··/˘···
(In love or brandy’s fervent fermentation)	11	···/˘/˘·˘/˘
Bestow’d upon him, as the public learn’d;	10	˘/·····/˘·
And, to say truth, it had been fairly earn’d.	10	·······/˘·
Besides the ministers and underlings,	10	˘/·/˘˘·/˘˘
Who must be courteous to the accredited	11	···/˘··˘/˘˘
Diplomatists of rather wavering kings,	10	·····/˘/˘·
Until their royal riddle ’s fully read,	11	···/˘/˘·/˘·
The very clerks,—those somewhat dirty springs	10	·/˘··///˘·
Of office, or the house of office, fed	10	·/˘····/˘·
By foul corruption into streams,—even they	10	··˘/˘···/·
Were hardly rude enough to earn their pay:	10	·/˘·˘/····
And insolence no doubt is what they are	10	·/˘˘······
Employ’d for, since it is their daily labour,	11	˘/·····/˘/·
In the dear offices of peace or war;	10	···/˘˘····
And should you doubt, pray ask of your next neighbour,	11	·········/˘
When for a passport, or some other bar	10	···/···/˘·
To freedom, he applied (a grief and a bore),	11	·/˘·˘/·····
If he found not his spawn of taxborn riches,	11	·········/˘
Like lap-dogs, the least civil sons of b—s.	11	·····/˘····
But Juan was received with much ‘empressement:’—	12	····˘/······
These phrases of refinement I must borrow	11	·/˘·˘/˘··/·
From our next neighbours’ land, where, like a chessman,	11	·/·······/˘
There is a move set down for joy or sorrow	11	·········/˘
Not only in mere talking, but the press. Man	11	·/˘··/˘····
In islands is, it seems, downright and thorough,	11	·/˘···/··/˘
More than on continents—as if the sea	10	···/˘˘····
(See Billingsgate) made even the tongue more free.	10	·/˘˘·/····
And yet the British ‘Damme’ ’s rather Attic:	11	···/˘··/˘/˘
Your continental oaths are but incontinent,	11	··˘/˘···˘/˘
And turn on things which no aristocratic	11	······˘·˘/˘
Spirit would name, and therefore even I won’t anent	11	/·····/····
This subject quote; as it would be schismatic	11	·/˘·····˘/˘
In politesse, and have a sound affronting in ’t:—	12	·˘/····˘/˘··
But ‘Damme’ ’s quite ethereal, though too daring—	11	····˘/˘··/˘
Platonic blasphemy, the soul of swearing.	11	˘/˘/˘˘···/˘
For downright rudeness, ye may stay at home;	10	·/·/˘·····
For true or false politeness (and scarce that	10	····˘/˘···
Now) you may cross the blue deep and white foam—	10	··········
The first the emblem (rarely though) of what	10	···/˘/˘···
You leave behind, the next of much you come	10	··········
To meet. However, ’tis no time to chat	10	···/˘·····
On general topics: poems must confine	10	·/˘/˘/˘·˘/
Themselves to unity, like this of mine.	10	˘/·/˘˘····
In the great world,—which, being interpreted,	11	·····/˘˘/˘˘
Meaneth the west or worst end of a city,	11	/˘·······/˘
And about twice two thousand people bred	10	·····/˘/˘·
By no means to be very wise or witty,	11	·····/˘··/˘
But to sit up while others lie in bed,	10	·····/˘···
And look down on the universe with pity,—	11	·····/˘··/˘
Juan, as an inveterate patrician,	11	····˘/˘˘˘/˘
Was well received by persons of condition.	11	··˘/·/˘·˘/˘
He was a bachelor, which is a matter	11	···/˘˘···/˘
Of import both to virgin and to bride,	10	·/˘··/˘···
The former’s hymeneal hopes to flatter;	10	·/˘·····/˘
And (should she not hold fast by love or pride)	10	··········
’Tis also of some moment to the latter:	11	·/˘··/˘··/˘
A rib ’s a thorn in a wed gallant’s side,	11	········/˘·
Requires decorum, and is apt to double	11	˘/˘/˘····/˘
The horrid sin—and what ’s still worse, the trouble.	12	·/˘·······/˘
But Juan was a bachelor—of arts,	10	·····/˘˘··
And parts, and hearts: he danced and sung, and had	10	··········
An air as sentimental as Mozart’s	10	····˘/˘·/˘
Softest of melodies; and could be sad	10	/˘·/˘˘····
Or cheerful, without any ‘flaws or starts,’	10	·/˘··/˘···
Just at the proper time; and though a lad,	10	···/˘·····
Had seen the world—which is a curious sight,	10	·······/˘·
And very much unlike what people write.	10	·/˘·˘/·/˘·
Fair virgins blush’d upon him; wedded dames	10	·/˘····/˘·
Bloom’d also in less transitory hues;	10	·/˘··/˘·˘·
For both commodities dwell by the Thames,	10	··˘/˘˘····
The painting and the painted; youth, ceruse,	10	·/˘··/˘·/˘
Against his heart preferr’d their usual claims,	10	····˘/·/˘·
Such as no gentleman can quite refuse:	10	···/˘˘··˘/
Daughters admired his dress, and pious mothers	11	/˘˘/···/˘/˘
Inquired his income, and if he had brothers.	11	˘/·/·····/˘
The milliners who furnish ‘drapery Misses’	11	·/˘·/˘/˘˘/˘
Throughout the season, upon speculation	11	···/˘···˘/˘
Of payment ere the honey-moon’s last kisses	11	·/˘··/˘··/˘
Have waned into a crescent’s coruscation,	11	·····/˘····
Thought such an opportunity as this is,	10	····˘/˘···
Of a rich foreigner’s initiation,	11	···/˘˘˘·˘/˘
Not to be overlook’d—and gave such credit,	11	···/˘····/˘
That future bridegrooms swore, and sigh’d, and paid it.	11	·/˘/·······
The Blues, that tender tribe who sigh o’er sonnets,	11	···/˘····/˘
And with the pages of the last Review	10	···/˘····/
Line the interior of their heads or bonnets,	11	··˘/˘····/˘
Advanced in all their azure’s highest hue:	10	˘/···/˘/˘·
They talk’d bad French or Spanish, and upon its	11	·····/˘····
Late authors ask’d him for a hint or two;	10	·/˘·······
And which was softest, Russian or Castilian?	11	···/˘/˘·˘/˘
And whether in his travels he saw Ilion?	11	·····/˘····

The first 400 of 712 lines; the reader marks them all.

Notes from the edition 51

Notes by Ernest Hartley Coleridge, The Works of Lord Byron, Poetry vol. VI (John Murray, 1903). Bracketed passages are the editor's; unbracketed are Byron's own or earlier editors'.

Stanza 1 [Berkeley did not deny the reality of existence, but the reality of matter as an abstract conception. "It is plain," he says (On the Principles of Human Knowledge, sect. ix.), "that the very notion of what is called matter or corporeal substance, involves a contradiction in it." Again, "It were a mistake to think that what is here said derogates in the least from the reality of things." His contention was that this reality depended, not on an abstraction called matter, "an inert, extended unperceiving substance," but on "those unextended, indivisible substances or spirits, which act, and think, and perceive them [unthinking beings]."--Ibid., sect. xci., The Works of George Berkeley, D.D., 1820, i. 27, 69, 70.]
Stanza 3 [Tempest, act v. sc. i, line 95.]
Stanza 5 ["I have been very unwell--four days confined to my bed in 'the worst inn's worst room' at Lerici, with a violent rheumatic and bilious attack, constipation, and the devil knows what."--Letter to Murray, October 9, 1822, Letters, 1901, vi. 121. The same letter contains an announcement that he had "a fifth [Canto of Don Juan] (the 10th) finished, but not transcribed yet; and the eleventh begun."]
Stanza 12 [Vide ante, Canto I. stanza xiv. lines 7, 8.]
Stanza 14 ["Falstaff. Let us be Diana's foresters, gentlemen of the shade, minions of the moon: and let men say, we be men of good government; being governed, as the sea is, by our noble and chaste mistress the moon, under whose countenance we--steal."-I Henry IV., act i. sc. 2, lines 24-28.]
Stanza 16 [Gin. Hence the antithesis of "All Max" in the East to Almack's in the West. (See Life in London, by Pierce Egan, 1823, pp. 284-290.)]
Stanza 17 [According to the Vocabulary of the Flash Language, compiled by James Hardy Vaux, in 1812, and published at the end of his Memoirs, 1819, ii. 149-227, a kiddy, or "flash-kiddy," is a thief of the lower orders, who, when he is breeched by a course of successful depredation dresses in the extreme of vulgar gentility, and affects a knowingness in his air and conversation. A "swell" or "rank swell" ("real swell" appears in Egan's Life in London) is the more recent "toff;" and "flash" is "fly," "down," or "awake," i.e. knowing, not easily imposed upon.]
Stanza 18 [Hamlet, act v. sc. 1, line 21.]
Stanza 19 ["Ken" is a house, s.c. a thieves' lodging-house; "spellken," a play-house; "high toby-spice" is robbery on horseback, as distinguished from "spice," i.e. footpad robbery; to "flash the muzzle" is to show off the face, to swagger openly; "blowing" or "blowen" is a doxy or trull; and "nutty" is, conjointly, amorous and fascinating.]
Stanza 19 The advance of science and of language has rendered it unnecessary to translate the above good and true English, spoken in its original purity by the select mobility and their patrons. The following is a stanza of a song which was very popular at least in my early days:--

"On the high toby-spice flash the muzzle, In spite of each gallows old scout; If you at the spellken can't hustle, You'll be hobbled in making a clout. Then your blowing will wax gallows haughty, When she hears of your scaly mistake, She'll surely turn snitch for the forty-- That her Jack may be regular weight."

If there be any gemman so ignorant as to require a traduction, I refer him to my old friend and corporeal pastor and master, John Jackson, Esq., Professor of Pugilism; who, I trust, still retains the strength and symmetry of his model of a form, together with his good humour, and athletic as well as mental accomplishments.

[Gentleman Jackson was of good renown. "Servility," says Egan (Life in London, 1823, p. 217), "is not known to him. Flattery he detests. Integrity, impartiality, good-nature, and manliness, are the corner-stones of his understanding." Byron once said of him that "his manners were infinitely superior to those of the Fellows of the College whom I meet at the high table" (J.W. Clark, Cambridge, 1890, p. 140). (See, too, letter to John Jackson, September 18, 1808, Letters, 1898, i. 189, note 2; Hints from Horace, line 638, Poetical Works, 1898, i. 433, note 3.) As to the stanza quoted by Egan (Anecdotes of the Turf, 1827, p. 44), but not traduced or interpreted, "To be hobbled for making a clout" is to be taken into custody for stealing a handkerchief, to "turn snitch" is to inform, and the "forty" is the £40 offered for the detection of a capital crime, and shared by the police or Bow Street runners. Dangerous characters were let alone and tacitly encouraged to continue their career of crime, until the measure of their iniquity was full, and they "weighed forty." If Jack was clumsy enough to be detected in a trifling theft, his "blowen" would go over to the enemy, and betray him for the sake of the Government reward (see Classical Dictionary of the Vulgar Tongue, by Francis Grose, 1823, art. "Weigh forty").]
Stanza 21 [Don Juan must have driven by Pleasant Row, and passed within hail of Paradise Row, on the way from Kennington to Westminster Bridge. (See Cary's New Pocket Plan of London, Westminster, and Southwark, 1819.) But, perhaps, there is more in the names of streets and places than meets the eye. Here, as elsewhere, there is, or there may be, "a paltering with us in a double sense."]
Stanza 22 [Compare Childe Harold, Canto 1. stanza lxix. line 8, var. ii., Poetical Works, 1899, ii. 66, note 2.]
Stanza 22 [The streets of London were first regularly lighted with gas in 1812.]
Stanza 25 [Thomas Pennant, in Some Account of London, 1793, p. 444, writes down the Mansion House (1739-1752) as "damned ... to everlasting fame."]
Stanza 26 [Fifty years ago "the lights of Piccadilly" were still regarded as one of the "sights" of London. Byron must often have looked at them from his house in Piccadilly Terrace.]
Stanza 26 [Joseph François Foulon, army commissioner, provoked the penalty of the "lantern" (i.e. an improvised gallows on the yard of a lamp-post at the corner of the Rue de la Vannerie) by his heartless sneer, "Eh bien! si cette canaille n'a pas de pain, elle mangera du foin." He was hanged, July 22, 1789. See The Tale of Two Cities, by Charles Dickens, cap. xxii.; see, too, Carlyle's French Revolution, 1839, i. 253: "With wild yells, Sansculottism clutches him, in its hundred hands: he is whirled ... to the 'Lanterne,' ... pleading bitterly for life,--to the deaf winds. Only with the third rope (for two ropes broke, and the quavering voice still pleaded), can he be so much as got hanged! His Body is dragged through the streets; his Head goes aloft on a pike, the mouth filled with grass: amid sounds as of Tophet, from a grass-eating people."]
Stanza 29 "Hells," gaming-houses. What their number may now be in this life, I know not. Before I was of age I knew them pretty accurately, both "gold" and "silver." I was once nearly called out by an acquaintance, because when he asked me where I thought that his soul would be found hereafter, I answered, "In Silver Hell."
Stanza 31 [Perhaps Grillion's Hotel (afterwards Grillion's Club) in Albemarle Street. In 1822 diplomats patronized more than one hotel in and near St. James's Street, but among the "Departures from Grillion's Hotel," recorded in the Morning Chronicle of September, 17, 1822, appositely enough, is that of H.E. Don Juan Garcia, del Rio.]
Stanza 38 [Compare--

"Lo! Erin, thy Lord! Kiss his foot with thy blessing"----

The Irish Avatar, stanza 14, Poetical Works, 1901, iv. 558.]
Stanza 43 "Anent" was a Scotch phrase meaning "concerning"--"with regard to: "it has been made English by the Scotch novels; and, as the Frenchman said, "If it be not, ought to be English." [See, for instance, The Abbot, chap. xvii. 132.]
Stanza 47 [Macbeth, act iii. sc. 4, line 63.]
Stanza 49 "Drapery Misses."--This term is probably anything now but a mystery. It was, however, almost so to me when I first returned from the East in 1811-1812. It means a pretty, a high-born, a fashionable young female, well instructed by her friends, and furnished by her milliner with a wardrobe upon credit, to be repaid, when married, by the husband. The riddle was first read to me by a young and pretty heiress, on my praising the "drapery" of the "untochered" but "pretty virginities" (like Mrs. Anne Page) of the then day, which has now been some years yesterday: she assured me that the thing was common in London; and as her own thousands, and blooming looks, and rich simplicity of array, put any suspicion in her own case out of the question, I confess I gave some credit to the allegation. If necessary, authorities might be cited; in which case I could quote both "drapery" and the wearers. Let us hope, however, that it is now obsolete.
Stanza 51 [Compare Hints from Horace, line 173, Poetical Works, 1898, i. 401, note 1.]
Stanza 54 [In his so-called "Dedication" of Marino Faliero to Goethe, Byron makes fun of the "nineteen hundred and eighty-seven poets," whose names were to be found in A Biographical Dictionary of Living Authors, etc. (See Introduction to Marino Faliero, Poetical Works, 1901, iv. 340, 341, note 1.)]
Stanza 56 [See "Introduction to Cain," Poetical Works, 1901, v. 204.]
Stanza 57 [The Reverend George Croly, D.D. (1780-1860), began his literary career as dramatic critic of the Times. "Croly," says H.C. Robinson (Diary, 1869, i. 412), "is a fierce-looking Irishman, very lively in conversation, and certainly has considerable talents as a writer; his eloquence, like his person, is rather energetic than eloquent" (hence the epithet "Cambyses," i.e. "King Cambyses' vein" in var. iii.). "He wrote tragedies, comedies, and novels; and, at last, settled down as a preacher, with the rank of doctor, but of what faculty I do not know" (ibid., footnote, H.C.R., 1847). He wrote, inter alia, Paris in 1815, a poem; Catiline, A Tragedy, 1822; and Salathiel, a novel, 1827. In lines 7, 8, Byron seems to refer to The Angel of the World, An Arabian Poem, published in 1820.]
Stanza 57 [I Henry IV., act ii. sc. 4, line 197.]
Stanza 58 [Stanza lviii. was first published in 1837. The reference is to Henry Hart Milman (1791-1868). Byron was under the impression that Milman had influenced Murray against continuing the publication of Don Juan. Added to this surmise, was the mistaken belief that it was Milman who had written the article in the Quarterly, which "killed John Keats." Hence the virulence of the attack.

"Dull Dorus" is obscure, but compare Propertius, Eleg. III. vii. 44, where Callimachus is addressed as "Dore poeta." He is the "ox of verse," because he had been recently appointed to the Professorship of Poetry at Oxford. The "roaring Romans" are "The soldiery" who shout "All, All," in Croly's Catiline, act v. sc. 2.]
Stanza 59 [Jeffrey, in his review of A Sicilian Story, etc., Bryan Waller Procter (Barry Cornwall), 1787-1874 (Edinburgh Review, January, 1820, vol. 33, pp. 144-155), compares Diego de Montilla, a poem in ottava rima, with Don Juan, favourably and unfavourably: "There is no profligacy and no horror ... no mocking of virtue and honour, and no strong mixtures of buffoonery and grandeur." But it may fairly match with Byron and his Italian models "as to the better qualities of elegance, delicacy, and tenderness." See, too, Blackwood's Edinburgh Magazine, March, 1820, vol. vi. pp. 153, 647.]
Stanza 59 [See Preface to the Vision of Judgment, Poetical Works, 1901, iv. 484, note 3.]
Stanza 60 [Croker's article in the Quarterly (April, 1818 [pub. September], vol. xix. pp. 204-208) did not "kill John Keats." See letter to George and Georgiana Keats, October, 1818 (Letters, etc., 1895, p. 215). Byron adopts Shelley's belief that the Reviewer, "miserable man," "one of the meanest," had "wantonly defaced one of the noblest specimens of the workmanship of God." See Preface to Adonais, and stanzas xxxvi., xxxvii.]
Stanza 60 "Divinæ particulam auræ" [Hor., Sat. ii. 2. 79]
Stanza 61 [For "the crowd of usurpers" who started up in the reign of Gallienus, and were dignified with the honoured appellation of "the thirty tyrants," see Gibbon's Decline and Fall, 1825, i. 164.]
Stanza 62 [King Lear, act iv. sc. 6, line 15.]
Stanza 65 ["Illita Nesseo misi tibi texta veneno."

Ovid., Heroid. Epist. ix. 163.]
Stanza 66 [A "bower," in Moore's phrase, signifies a solitude à deux; e.g. "Here's the Bower she lov'd so much."

"Come to me, love, the twilight star Shall guide thee to my bower."

Moore.]
Stanza 68 [Compare The Waltz, lines 220-229, et passim, Poetical Works, 1898, i. 501.]
Stanza 72 Scotch for goblin.
Stanza 76 [The sentiment is reiterated in The Night Thoughts, and is the theme of Resignation, which was written and published when Young was more than eighty years old. ]
Stanza 77 ["I have ... written ... to express my willingness to accept the, or almost any mortgage, any thing to get out of the tremulous Funds of these oscillating times. There will be a war somewhere, no doubt--and whatever it may be, the Funds will be affected more or less; so pray get us out of them with all proper expedition. It has been the burthen of my song to you three years and better, and about as useful as better counsels."--Letter of Byron to Kinnaird, January 18, 1823, Letters, 1901, vi. 162, 163.]
Stanza 78 [For William Pole Tylney Long Wellesley (1788-1857), see The Waltz, line 21, Poetical Works, 1898, i. 484, note 1. He was only on the way to being "diddled" in 1822, but the prophecy (suggested, no doubt, by the announcement of the sale of furniture, etc., at Wanstead House, in the Morning Chronicle, July 8, 1822) was ultimately fulfilled. Samuel Whitbread, born 1758, committed suicide July 6, 1815. Sir Samuel Romilly, born 1758, committed suicide November 2, 1818.]
Stanza 78 [According to Charles Greville, George the Third made two wills--the first in 1770, the second, which he never signed, in 1810. By the first will he left "all he had to the Queen for her life, Buckingham House to the Duke of Clarence," etc., and as Buckingham House had been twice sold, and the other legatees were dead, a question arose between the King and the Duke of York as to the right of inheritance of their father's personal property. George IV. conceived that it devolved upon him personally, and not on the Crown, and "consequently appropriated to himself the whole of the money and the jewels." It is possible that this difference between the brothers was noised abroad, and that old stories of the destruction of royal wills were revived to the new king's discredit. (See The Greville Memoirs, 1875, i. 64, 65.)]
Stanza 78 [See Moore's Fum and Hum, the Two Birds of Royalty, appended to his Fudge Family.]
Stanza 80 [Lady Caroline Lamb and Lady Frances Wedderburn Webster.]
Stanza 84 [The Congress at Verona, in 1822. See the Introduction to The Age of Bronze, Poetical Works, 1891, v. 537-540.]
Stanza 85 [2 Henry IV., act iv. sc. 3, line 117.]
Stanza 86 [Hor., Od. I. xi. line 8.]
Stanza 86 [Macbeth, act v. sc. 5, line 24.]
Stanza 86 [1 Henry IV., act ii. sc. 4, line 463.]
Stanza 87 [See the Secret Memoirs and Manners of several Persons of Quality, of Both Sexes, from the New Atalantis, 1709, a work in which the authoress, Mrs. Manley, satirizes the distinguished characters of her day. Warburton (Works of Pope, ed. 1751, i. 244) calls it "a famous book.... full of court and party scandal, and in a loose effeminacy of style and sentiment, which well suited the debauched taste of the better vulgar." Pope also alludes to it in the Rape of the Lock, iii. 165, 166--

"As long as Atalantis shall be read, Or the small pillow grace a lady's bed."

And Swift, in his ballad on "Corinna" (stanza 8)--

"Her common-place book all gallant is, Of scandal now a cornucopia, She pours it out in Atalantis, Or memoirs of the New Utopia."

Works, 1824, xii. 302.]
Stanza 90 [Oct. 17, 1822.--MS.]

The reader shows the same poem with its rhymes coloured and a stress row above each line, the notes beside their stanzas, and any word's definition on a tap; the analysis page takes the whole book apart. How every part of this site was made.

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