Don Juan By Lord Byron Canto X

And Death, the sovereign's sovereign, though the great
  Gracchus of all mortality, who levels
With his Agrarian laws the high estate
  Of him who feasts, and fights, and roars, and revels,
To one small grass-grown patch (which must await
  Corruption for its crop) with the poor devils
Who never had a foot of land till now, —
Death 's a reformer, all men must allow.

He lived (not Death, but Juan) in a hurry
  Of waste, and haste, and glare, and gloss, and glitter,
In this gay clime of bear-skins black and furry —
  Which (though I hate to say a thing that 's bitter)
Peep out sometimes, when things are in a flurry,
  Through all the 'purple and fine linen,' fitter
For Babylon's than Russia's royal harlot —
And neutralize her outward show of scarlet.

And this same state we won't describe: we would
  Perhaps from hearsay, or from recollection;
But getting nigh grim Dante's 'obscure wood,'
  That horrid equinox, that hateful section
Of human years, that half-way house, that rude
  Hut, whence wise travellers drive with circumspection
Life's sad post-horses o'er the dreary frontier
Of age, and looking back to youth, give one tear; —

I won't describe, — that is, if I can help
  Description; and I won't reflect, — that is,
If I can stave off thought, which — as a whelp
  Clings to its teat — sticks to me through the abyss
Of this odd labyrinth; or as the kelp
  Holds by the rock; or as a lover's kiss
Drains its first draught of lips: — but, as I said,
I won't philosophise, and will be read.

Juan, instead of courting courts, was courted, —
  A thing which happens rarely: this he owed
Much to his youth, and much to his reported
  Valour; much also to the blood he show'd,
Like a race-horse; much to each dress he sported,
  Which set the beauty off in which he glow'd,
As purple clouds befringe the sun; but most
He owed to an old woman and his post.

He wrote to Spain: — and all his near relations,
  Perceiving fie was in a handsome way
Of getting on himself, and finding stations
  For cousins also, answer'd the same day.
Several prepared themselves for emigrations;
  And eating ices, were o'erheard to say,
That with the addition of a slight pelisse,
Madrid's and Moscow's climes were of a piece.

His mother, Donna Inez, finding, too,
  That in the lieu of drawing on his banker,
Where his assets were waxing rather few,
  He had brought his spending to a handsome anchor, —
Replied, 'that she was glad to see him through
  Those pleasures after which wild youth will hanker;
As the sole sign of man's being in his senses
Is, learning to reduce his past expenses.

'She also recommended him to God,
  And no less to God's Son, as well as Mother,
Warn'd him against Greek worship, which looks odd
  In Catholic eyes; but told him, too, to smother
Outward dislike, which don't look well abroad;
  Inform'd him that he had a little brother
Born in a second wedlock; and above
All, praised the empress's maternal love.

'She could not too much give her approbation
  Unto an empress, who preferr'd young men
Whose age, and what was better still, whose nation
  And climate, stopp'd all scandal (now and then): —
At home it might have given her some vexation;
  But where thermometers sunk down to ten,
Or five, or one, or zero, she could never
Believe that virtue thaw'd before the river.'

O for a forty-parson power to chant
  Thy praise, Hypocrisy! Oh for a hymn
Loud as the virtues thou dost loudly vaunt,
  Not practise! Oh for trumps of cherubim!
Or the ear-trumpet of my good old aunt,
  Who, though her spectacles at last grew dim,
Drew quiet consolation through its hint,
When she no more could read the pious print.

She was no hypocrite at least, poor soul,
  But went to heaven in as sincere a way
As any body on the elected roll,
  Which portions out upon the judgment day
Heaven's freeholds, in a sort of doomsday scroll,
  Such as the conqueror William did repay
His knights with, lotting others' properties
Into some sixty thousand new knights' fees.

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