3 books to know Juvenalian Satire. Lord Byron

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СКАЧАТЬ 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,

      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 hand to hand,

      For Juan very luckily ne'er saw it;

      His temper not being under great command,

      If at that moment he had chanced to claw it,

      Alfonso's days had not been in the land

      Much longer.—Think of husbands', lovers' lives!

      And how ye may be doubly widows—wives!

      Alfonso grappled to detain the foe,

      And Juan throttled him to get away,

      And blood ('t was from the nose) began to flow;

      At last, as they more faintly wrestling lay,

      Juan contrived to give an awkward blow,

      And then his only garment quite gave way;

      He fled, like Joseph, leaving it; but there,

      I doubt, all likeness ends between the pair.

      Lights came at length, and men, and maids, who found

      An awkward spectacle their eyes before;

      Antonia in hysterics, Julia swoon'd,

      Alfonso leaning, breathless, by the door;

      Some half-torn drapery scatter'd on the ground,

      Some blood, and several footsteps, but no more:

      Juan the gate gain'd, turn'd the key about,

      And liking not the inside, lock'd the out.

      Here ends this canto.—Need I sing, or say,

      How Juan naked, favour'd by the night,

      Who favours what she should not, found his way,

      And reach'd his home in an unseemly plight?

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