Don Juan By Lord Byron Canto I

Under the bed they search'd, and there they found —
  No matter what — it was not that they sought;
They open'd windows, gazing if the ground
  Had signs or footmarks, but the earth said nought;
And then they stared each other's faces round:
  'T is odd, not one of all these seekers thought,
And seems to me almost a sort of blunder,
Of looking in the bed as well as under.

During this inquisition, Julia's tongue
  Was not asleep — 'Yes, search and search,' she cried,
'Insult on insult heap, and wrong on wrong!
  It was for this that I became a bride!
For this in silence I have suffer'd long
  A husband like Alfonso at my side;
But now I 'll bear no more, nor here remain,
If there be law or lawyers in all Spain.

'Yes, Don Alfonso! husband now no more,
  If ever you indeed deserved the name,
Is 't worthy of your years? — you have threescore —
  Fifty, or sixty, it is all the same —
Is 't wise or fitting, causeless to explore
  For facts against a virtuous woman's fame?
Ungrateful, perjured, barbarous Don Alfonso,
How dare you think your lady would go on so?

'Is it for this I have disdain'd to hold
  The common privileges of my sex?
That I have chosen a confessor so old
  And deaf, that any other it would vex,
And never once he has had cause to scold,
  But found my very innocence perplex
So much, he always doubted I was married —
How sorry you will be when I 've miscarried!

'Was it for this that no Cortejo e'er
  I yet have chosen from out the youth of Seville?
Is it for this I scarce went anywhere,
  Except to bull-fights, mass, play, rout, and revel?
Is it for this, whate'er my suitors were,
  I favor'd none — nay, was almost uncivil?
Is it for this that General Count O'Reilly,
Who took Algiers, declares I used him vilely?

'Did not the Italian Musico Cazzani
  Sing at my heart six months at least in vain?
Did not his countryman, Count Corniani,
  Call me the only virtuous wife in Spain?
Were there not also Russians, English, many?
  The Count Strongstroganoff I put in pain,
And Lord Mount Coffeehouse, the Irish peer,
Who kill'd himself for love (with wine) last year.

'Have I not had two bishops at my feet,
  The Duke of Ichar, and Don Fernan Nunez?
And is it thus a faithful wife you treat?
  I wonder in what quarter now the moon is:
I praise your vast forbearance not to beat
  Me also, since the time so opportune is —
O, valiant man! with sword drawn and cock'd trigger,
Now, tell me, don't you cut a pretty figure?

'Was it for this you took your sudden journey.
  Under pretence of business indispensable
With that sublime of rascals your attorney,
  Whom I see standing there, and looking sensible
Of having play'd the fool? though both I spurn, he
  Deserves the worst, his conduct 's less defensible,
Because, no doubt, 't was for his dirty fee,
And not from any love to you nor me.

'If he comes here to take a deposition,
  By all means let the gentleman proceed;
You 've made the apartment in a fit condition:
  There 's pen and ink for you, sir, when you need —
Let every thing be noted with precision,
  I would not you for nothing should be fee'd —
But, as my maid 's undrest, pray turn your spies out.'
'Oh!' sobb'd Antonia, 'I could tear their eyes out.'

'There is the closet, there the toilet, there
  The antechamber — search them under, over;
There is the sofa, there the great arm-chair,
  The chimney — which would really hold a lover.
I wish to sleep, and beg you will take care
  And make no further noise, till you discover
The secret cavern of this lurking treasure —
And when 't is found, let me, too, have that pleasure.

'And now, Hidalgo! now that you have thrown
  Doubt upon me, confusion over all,
Pray have the courtesy to make it known
  Who is the man you search for? how d' ye cal
Him? what 's his lineage? let him but be shown —
  I hope he 's young and handsome — is he tall?
Tell me — and be assured, that since you stain
My honour thus, it shall not be in vain.

'At least, perhaps, he has not sixty years,
  At that age he would be too old for slaughter,
Or for so young a husband's jealous fears
  (Antonia! let me have a glass of water).
I am ashamed of having shed these tears,
  They are unworthy of my father's daughter;
My mother dream'd not in my natal hour
That I should fall into a monster's power.

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