'T were better, sure, to die so, than be shut
With maudlin Clarence in his Malmsey butt.
And, secondly, I pity not, because
He had no business to commit a sin, Forbid by heavenly, fined by human laws, At least 't was rather early to begin;
But at sixteen the conscience rarely gnaws
So much as when we call our old debts in
At sixty years, and draw the accompts of evil,
And find a deuced balance with the devil.
Of his position I can give no notion:
'T is written in the Hebrew Chronicle,
How the physicians, leaving pill and potion, Prescribed, by way of blister, a young belle,
When old King David's blood grew dull in motion, And that the medicine answer'd very well;
Perhaps 't was in a different way applied, For David lived, but Juan nearly died.
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What 's to be done? Alfonso will be back The moment he has sent his fools away. Antonia's skill was put upon the rack,
But no device could be brought into play-- And how to parry the renew'd attack? Besides, it wanted but few hours of day: Antonia puzzled; Julia did not speak,
But press'd her bloodless lip to Juan's cheek.
He turn'd his lip to hers, and with his hand Call'd back the tangles of her wandering hair; Even then their love they could not all command, And half forgot their danger and despair: Antonia's patience now was at a stand--
'Come, come, 't is no time now for fooling there,' She whisper'd, in great wrath--'I must deposit This pretty gentleman within the closet:
'Pray, keep your nonsense for some luckier night-- Who can have put my master in this mood?
What will become on 't--I 'm in such a fright, The devil 's in the urchin, and no good--
Is this a time for giggling? this a plight?
Why, don't you know that it may end in blood? You 'll lose your life, and I shall lose my place, My mistress all, for that half-girlish face.
'Had it but been for a stout cavalier
Of twenty-five or thirty (come, make haste)--
But for a child, what piece of work is here! I really, madam, wonder at your taste
(Come, sir, get in)--my master must be near: There, for the present, at the least, he's fast, And if we can but till the morning keep
Our counsel--(Juan, mind, you must not sleep).'
Now, Don Alfonso entering, but alone, Closed the oration of the trusty maid: She loiter'd, and he told her to be gone, An order somewhat sullenly obey'd; However, present remedy was none,
And no great good seem'd answer'd if she stay'd: Regarding both with slow and sidelong view,
She snuff 'd the candle, curtsied, and withdrew.
Alfonso paused a minute--then begun
Some strange excuses for his late proceeding; He would not justify what he had done,
To say the best, it was extreme ill-breeding; But there were ample reasons for it, none Of which he specified in this his pleading: His speech was a fine sample, on the whole,
Of rhetoric, which the learn'd call 'rigmarole.'
Julia said nought; though all the while there rose
A ready answer, which at once enables
A matron, who her husband's foible knows,
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By a few timely words to turn the tables, Which, if it does not silence, still must pose,-- Even if it should comprise a pack of fables;
'T is to retort with firmness, and when he
Suspects with one, do you reproach with three.
Julia, in fact, had tolerable grounds,-- Alfonso's loves with Inez were well known,
But whether 't was that one's own guilt confounds-- But that can't be, as has been often shown,
A lady with apologies abounds;--
It might be that her silence sprang alone
From delicacy to Don Juan's ear,
To whom she knew his mother's fame was dear.
There might be one more motive, which makes two; Alfonso ne'er to Juan had alluded,--
Mention'd his jealousy but never who
Had been the happy lover, he concluded, Conceal'd amongst his premises; 't is true,
His mind the more o'er this its mystery brooded; To speak of Inez now were, one may say,
Like throwing Juan in Alfonso's way.
A hint, in tender cases, is enough; Silence is best, besides there is a tact
(That modern phrase appears to me sad stuff, But it will serve to keep my verse compact)--
Which keeps, when push'd by questions rather rough, A lady always distant from the fact:
The charming creatures lie with such a grace, There 's nothing so becoming to the face.
They blush, and we believe them; at least I Have always done so; 't is of no great use, In any case, attempting a reply,
For then their eloquence grows quite profuse;
And when at length they 're out of breath, they sigh, And cast their languid eyes down, and let loose
A tear or two, and then we make it up;
And then--and then--and then--sit down and sup.
Alfonso closed his speech, and begg'd her pardon, Which Julia half withheld, and then half granted, And laid conditions he thought very hard on, Denying several little things he wanted:
He stood like Adam lingering near his garden, With useless penitence perplex'd and haunted, Beseeching she no further would refuse,
When, lo! he stumbled o'er a pair of shoes.
A pair of shoes!--what then? not much, if they
Are such as fit with ladies' feet, but these (No one can tell how much I grieve to say) Were masculine; to see them, and to seize, Was but a moment's act.--Ah! well-a-day!
My teeth begin to chatter, my veins freeze--
Alfonso first examined well their fashion,
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And then flew out into another passion.
He left the room for his relinquish'd sword,
And Julia instant to the closet flew.
'Fly, Juan, fly! for heaven's sake--not a word-- The door is open--you may yet slip through The passage you so often have explored-- Here is the garden-key--Fly--fly--Adieu! Haste--haste! I hear Alfonso's hurrying feet--
Day has not broke--there 's no one in the street:
None can say that this was not good advice, The only mischief was, it came too late;
Of all experience 't is the usual price, A sort of income-tax laid on by fate:
Juan had reach'd the room-door in a. trice, And might have done so by the garden-gate, But met Alfonso in his dressing-gown,
Who threaten'd death--so Juan knock'd him down.
Dire was the scuffle, and out went the light; Antonia cried out 'Rape!' and Julia 'Fire!' But not a servant stirr'd to aid the fight. Alfonso, pommell'd to his heart's desire, Swore lustily he'd be revenged this night;
And Juan, too, blasphemed an octave higher;
His blood was up: though young, he was a Tartar, And not at all disposed to prove a martyr.
Alfonso's sword had dropp'd ere he could draw it, And they continued battling