Don Juan By Lord Byron Canto XI

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 turn
  Their flanks; — but it is hardly worth my while
With 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 peril
  Amongst live poets and blue ladies, past
With 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'd
Amongst 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 nothing
That leads to lassitude, the most infected
  And Centaur Nessus garb of mortal clothing,
And on our sofas makes us lie dejected,
  And talk in tender horrors of our loathing
All kinds of toil, save for our country's good —
Which grows no better, though 't is time it should.

His afternoons he pass'd in visits, luncheons,
  Lounging and boxing; and the twilight hour
In riding round those vegetable puncheons
  Call'd 'Parks,' where there is neither fruit nor flower
Enough to gratify a bee's slight munchings;
  But after all it is the only 'bower'
(In Moore's phrase), where the fashionable fair
Can form a slight acquaintance with fresh air.

Then dress, then dinner, then awakes the world!
  Then glare the lamps, then whirl the wheels, then roar
Through street and square fast flashing chariots hurl'd
  Like harness'd meteors; then along the floor
Chalk mimics painting; then festoons are twirl'd;
  Then roll the brazen thunders of the door,
Which opens to the thousand happy few
An earthly paradise of 'Or Molu.'

There stands the noble hostess, nor shall sink
  With 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 survey
  Of 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 he
  Who, like Don Juan, takes an active share,
Must steer with care through all that glittering sea
  Of gems and plumes and pearls and silks, to where
He deems it is his proper place to be;
  Dissolving in the waltz to some soft air,
Or proudlier prancing with mercurial skill
Where Science marshals forth her own quadrille.

Or, if he dance not, but hath higher views
  Upon an heiress or his neighbour's bride,
Let him take care that that which he pursues
  Is not at once too palpably descried.
Full many an eager gentleman oft rues
  His 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 upper
  In mind, a sort of sentimental bogle,
Which sits for ever upon memory's crupper,
  The ghost of vanish'd pleasures once in vogue! Ill
Can tender souls relate the rise and fall
Of hopes and fears which shake a single ball.

But these precautionary hints can touch
  Only the common run, who must pursue,
And watch, and ward; whose plans a word too much
  Or little overturns; and not the few
Or 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.

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