Me with thy spirit. Throw thy mantle o'er me,'
Spin thy unfinish'd yarn about Don Juan,
Nay, never wince-I'm serious-thou must
Digress from thy digressions, and return
To the main tale, e'er I let go the tail
Of thy shy steed, whose mane sings i' the wind
Of such wild fancies as thou followest;
Whose kicks and plunges are as whimsical
As young kids' capers, or capricious airs
Of maids inebriate with beauty's praise.
If thou digress, I will digress with thee;
If thou return, I'll turn and turn again,
But stick as close to thee as does thy shade;
And, if thou flourish that sharp tool of thine,
I'll snatch the two-edged weapon from thy grasp,
And cut at all o'er whom thou dar'st to ride.
If thou wilt amble, I will mince thy pace;
Walk gently, and I'll keep thy breathing time.
Wilt gallop furiously ?—Outride the storm ;
Thou shalt not 'scape me, I'll be sure to follow-
Nay, I'll be there before thee—the quick train
And first-class carriage beats thy poor Peg hollow.
Or wilt ascend Olympus' cloudy shelf?
I'll still hold on by Peg's tail, even there.
"Cut off that tail ?"-Thou but destroy'st thyself.
Remember, Sampson's strength was in the hair,
Like wisdom in the wig of a grave judge.
(Though some don't stick to hint that Sam's all fudge);
More hair, well powder'd, more the wit avails;
Depend on 't, that's why lawyers wear two tails!
Come, Byron ! leave thy hypochondria
Behind.-Do'st think thou art the only one
1 In the original manuscript some lines followed this, alluding to Elijah's ascent, but were marked for omission, being too long and unconnected for insertion here. They are omitted in this edition.
Whom fate or fortune in capricious mood
Hath singled out to play their tricks upon ?
Oh! there are those who "could a tale unfold,"
Whose lightest woe to thine would seem as lead
To gossamer, or thistle-down, that floats
Where the wind listeth, o'er autumnal fields;
Whose agony of heart burst e'en the soul,
And toppled reason from the burning brain,
That, all unquench'd, consum'd for lack of tears.
But deepest griefs are softened-e'en remorse
Grows more endurable when smooth'd by time,
That levels all things with his unfelt touch.
Come, and with me resolve to be right gay,
With me, who, without "wine," or "lucky stars,"
Can feel, in spite of dire calamity,
A buoyant elasticity of soul,
That, like a cork upon the yeasty wave,
Still dancing to the roar, derides the storm,
And laughingly disdains to be o'erwhelm'd.1
Now, Byron, spur thy winged hobby-horse,
And let me fairly hold fast by the crupper;
Perhaps, too, Peg will not jog on the worse
For a glass of gin-and-water after supper.2
Oh no!--I don't "reflect on bygone times,"
But, if we are to go, let's
go it snug;
"Laugh in misfortune's face, the beldam witch;
Say you'll be merry, though you can't be rich."-BURNS.
2 See Murray's edition, 1846, of Lord Byron's works, page 585, where Mr. West says of Lord Byron: "He showed me two of the cantos of Don Juan in manuscript. They were written on large sheets of paper, put together like a schoolboy's copybook. Here and there I observed alterations of words, but seldom of whole lines; and just so, he told me, it was written down at once. It was all gin, he said, meaning that he drank nothing but gin when he wrote it. The Guiccioli was present, and said, "she wished my Lord would leave off writing that ugly Don Juan." "I cannot give up my Don Juan," he replied. "I do not know what I should do without my Don Juan."
Much better for blank verse, or blanker rhymes,
With something comfortable in our mug.
Not that I e'er would recommend ebriety,
("Not by no means,") but only "just a drappie In our ee," gives-ye ken what-variety
To a' our thoughts (and gars us feel sae happy); It maks 'em, as it were, a' daunce wi' glee, In form mair gracefu' wi' a flow mair kind— In short, it gies "a summer to the mind."
Then let us mount, friend Byron, and be off,
While yet the spirit moves us to be gay,
And our philosophy's inclin'd to laugh
And lash at follies as they cross our way.
We'll have a trot, and let th' eclectics scoff,
And cant, and moralize as best they may;
Our moral against theirs contends, in truth,
To strip the hypocrite, and warn th' incautious youth.
"Then pardon, O most sacred, happie Spirit!
That I thy labours lost may thus revive,
And steale from thee the meede of thy due merit,
That none durst ever whilest thou wast alive,
And, being dead, in vaine yet many strive :
Ne dare I like; but, through infusion sweete
Of thine owne spirit which doth in me survive,
I follow here the footing of thy feete,
That with thy meaning so I may the rather meete."
Spencer's "Faerie Queen," b. 4, c. 2, s. 34.
Now spur our Pegasus, a rapid pace
And (barring thy digressions, Master George) We'll take a short cut to the very place
Where Cupid took the liberty to forge
A weapon that might move her frolic Grace,
In holy guise, to play the ghost at large;
And frighten Juan with a midnight visit1—
Of course, not meaning anything illicit.
Perhaps she meant to give him good advice,
And warn his youth against a little plot
Which, somehow, she suspected, in a trice
Would counteract another, if 'twere not
Forestall'd, and therefore she would not be nice,
But boldly strike the iron while 'twas hot.
This brought her vis-à-vis with Master Juan.
Oh woman! if the Devil plot, so you can!
1 Don Juan, canto xvi., stanza 123.
Now you, friend B. must own 'twas not quite right
To leave this pair in such a situation 1
At such an awful dang'rous hour of night,
Placing in jeopardy their reputation;
While critics, and eclectics, at the height
Of gaping, horrifying expectation,
Have long ago concluded, without doubt,
That Juan and Her Grace have-fallen out.
(Not with each other, reader, but much worse)
Out-of the bounds of virtuous propriety;
And that, of course, they must endure the curse
Of banishment from fashion's strict society-
Be sent to Coventry-that shameless nurse
Of ancient custom; putting our sobriety
And modesty to th' blush, since fam'd Godiva
The WARTON has of late outdone by far.
For th' ancient dame sent forth a proclamation
That whosoe'er should dare to take a peep
Should suffer death, nor hope for commutation.
So, therefore, if their worldly goods they'd keep,
Or priz'd their bodies as their soul's salvation,
And would in comfort and a whole skin sleep,
They would, of course, most strictly keep within doors,
Barring the same, and dark'ning all their windores.2
Whereas, the modern Eve (so we are told 'tis),
When she, to personate the naked fair,
"'T was surely very wrong in Juan's mother
To leave together this imprudent pair."
Don Juan, canto i., stanza 110. 2 Ancient orthography admits this rhyme. Butler, in his "Hudibras," spells it "windores," and cockneys, to this day, pronounce it "vinders." Also, in all words in which aw occur, the said cockneys introduce an r-thus, for drawing, they read drorin: for straw, stror, etc. The Author has heard an F.R.S.
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