Don Juan By Lord Byron Canto XIV

She was a fine and somewhat full-blown blonde,
  Desirable, distinguish'd, celebrated
For several winters in the grand, grand monde.
  I 'd rather not say what might be related
Of her exploits, for this were ticklish ground;
  Besides there might be falsehood in what 's stated:
Her late performance had been a dead set
At Lord Augustus Fitz-Plantagenet.

This noble personage began to look
  A little black upon this new flirtation;
But such small licences must lovers brook,
  Mere freedoms of the female corporation.
Woe to the man who ventures a rebuke!
  'T will but precipitate a situation
Extremely disagreeable, but common
To calculators when they count on woman.

The circle smiled, then whisper'd, and then sneer'd;
  The Misses bridled, and the matrons frown'd;
Some hoped things might not turn out as they fear'd;
  Some would not deem such women could be found;
Some ne'er believed one half of what they heard;
  Some look'd perplex'd, and others look'd profound;
And several pitied with sincere regret
Poor Lord Augustus Fitz-Plantagenet.

But what is odd, none ever named the duke,
  Who, one might think, was something in the affair;
True, he was absent, and, 't was rumour'd, took
  But small concern about the when, or where,
Or what his consort did: if he could brook
  Her gaieties, none had a right to stare:
Theirs was that best of unions, past all doubt,
Which never meets, and therefore can't fall out.

But, oh! that I should ever pen so sad a line!
  Fired with an abstract love of virtue, she,
My Dian of the Ephesians, Lady Adeline,
  Began to think the duchess' conduct free;
Regretting much that she had chosen so bad a line,
  And waxing chiller in her courtesy,
Look'd grave and pale to see her friend's fragility,
For which most friends reserve their sensibility.

There 's nought in this bad world like sympathy:
  'T is so becoming to the soul and face,
Sets to soft music the harmonious sigh,
  And robes sweet friendship in a Brussels lace.
Without a friend, what were humanity,
  To hunt our errors up with a good grace?
Consoling us with — 'Would you had thought twice!
Ah, if you had but follow'd my advice!'

O job! you had two friends: one 's quite enough,
  Especially when we are ill at ease;
They are but bad pilots when the weather 's rough,
  Doctors less famous for their cures than fees.
Let no man grumble when his friends fall off,
  As they will do like leaves at the first breeze:
When your affairs come round, one way or t' other,
Go to the coffee-house, and take another.

But this is not my maxim: had it been,
  Some heart-aches had been spared me: yet I care not —
I would not be a tortoise in his screen
  Of stubborn shell, which waves and weather wear not.
'T is better on the whole to have felt and seen
  That which humanity may bear, or bear not:
'T will teach discernment to the sensitive,
And not to pour their ocean in a sieve.

Of all the horrid, hideous notes of woe,
  Sadder than owl-songs or the midnight blast,
Is that portentous phrase, 'I told you so,'
  Utter'd by friends, those prophets of the past,
Who, 'stead of saying what you now should do,
  Own they foresaw that you would fall at last,
And solace your slight lapse 'gainst 'bonos mores,'
With a long memorandum of old stories.

The Lady Adeline's serene severity
  Was not confined to feeling for her friend,
Whose fame she rather doubted with posterity,
  Unless her habits should begin to mend:
But Juan also shared in her austerity,
  But mix'd with pity, pure as e'er was penn'd:
His inexperience moved her gentle ruth,
And (as her junior by six weeks) his youth.

These forty days' advantage of her years —
  And hers were those which can face calculation,
Boldly referring to the list of peers
  And noble births, nor dread the enumeration —
Gave her a right to have maternal fears
  For a young gentleman's fit education,
Though she was far from that leap year, whose leap,
In female dates, strikes Time all of a heap.

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