XXXIII.

Each aunt, each cousin, hath her speculation;
Nay, married dames will now and then discover
Such pure disinterestedness of passion,

I've known them court an heiress for their lover. "Tantæne !"(1) Such the virtues of high station,

Even in the hopeful Isle, whose outlet's "Dover!" While the poor rich wretch, object of these cares, Has cause to wish her sire had had male heirs.

XXXIV.

Some are soon bagg'd, and some reject three dozen. 'Tis fine to see them scattering refusals

And wild dismay o'er every angry cousin

(Friends of the party), who begin accusals Such as-" Unless Miss (Blank) meant to have chosen Poor Frederick, why did she accord perusals To his billets? Why waltz with him? Why, I pray, Look yes last night, and yet say no to-day?

XXXV.

"Why?-Why?-Besides, Fred really was attach'd; 'Twas not her fortune-he has enough without: The time will come she'll wish that she had snatch'd So good an opportunity, no doubt:

But the old marchioness some plan had hatch'd,
As I'll tell Aurea at to-morrow's rout:
And after all
Pray did you see her answer to his letter?"

Frederick poor

may

do better

(1) ["Tantæne animis cœlestibus iræ!".

VIRG.]

XXXVI

Smart uniforms and sparkling coronets

Are spurn'd in turn, until her turn arrives, After male loss of time, and hearts, and bets Upon the sweepstakes for substantial wives; And when at last the pretty creature gets

Some gentleman, who fights, or writes, or drives, It soothes the awkward squad of the rejected To find how very badly she selected.

XXXVII.

For sometimes they accept some long pursuer,
Worn out with importunity; or fall
(But here perhaps the instances are fewer)
To the lot of him who scarce pursued at all.
A hazy widower turn'd of forty's sure (1)
(If 't is not vain examples to recall)

To draw a high prize: now, howe'er he got her, I
See nought more strange in this than t'other lottery.

I, for my part-(one " modern instance" more,
True, 'tis a pity-pity 'tis, 'tis true")

Was chosen from out an amatory score,
Albeit my years were less discreet than few;
But though I also had reform'd before

Those became one who soon were to be two,
I'll not gainsay the generous public's voice,
That the young lady made a monstrous choice.

(1) This line may puzzie the commentators more than the present gene ration..

XXXIX.

Oh, pardon my digression-or at least
Peruse! Tis always with a moral end
That I dissert, like grace before a feast:
For like an aged aunt, or tiresome friend,
A rigid guardian, or a zealous priest,

My Muse by exhortation means to mend All people, at all times, and in most places, Which puts my Pegasus to these grave paces.

XL.

But now I'm going to be immoral; now
I mean to show things really as they are,
Not as they ought to be: for I avow,

That till we see what's what in fact, we're far From much improvement with that virtuous plough Which skims the surface, leaving scarce a scar

Upon the black loam long manured by Vice,
Only to keep its corn at the old price.

XLI.

But first of little Leila we'll dispose;
For like a day-dawn she was young
Or like the old comparison of snows,

and pure,

Which are more pure than pleasant to be sure. Like many people every body knows,

Don Juan was delighted to secure

A goodly guardian for his infant charge,

Who might not profit much by being at large.

XLII.

Besides, he had found out he was no tutor

(I wish that others would find out the same); And rather wish'd in such things to stand neuter,

For silly wards will bring their guardians blame: So when he saw each ancient dame a suitor To make his little wild Asiatic tame, Consulting" the Society for Vice Suppression," Lady Pinchbeck was his choice.

XLIII.

Olden she was-but had been very young;
Virtuous she was-and had been, I believe;
Although the world has such an evil tongue

That

-but my chaster ear will not receive

An echo of a syllable that's wrong:

In fact, there's nothing makes me so much grieve,

As that abominable tittle-tattle,

Which is the cud eschew'd by human cattle.

XLIV.

Moreover I've remark'd (and I was once
A slight observer in a modest way),
And so may every one except a dunce,

That ladies in their youth a little gay,
Besides their knowledge of the world, and sense
Of the sad consequence of going astray,
Are wiser in their warnings 'gainst the woe
Which the mere passionless can never know.

XLV.

While the harsh prude indemnifies her virtue
By railing at the unknown and envied passion,
Seeking far less to save you than to hurt you,
Or, what's still worse, to put you out of fashion,-
The kinder veteran with calm words will court you,
Entreating you to pause
before you
dash on;
Expounding and illustrating the riddle

Of epic Love's beginning, end, and middle.

XLVI.

Now whether it be thus, or that they are stricter,
As better knowing why they should be so,
I think you'll find from many a family picture,

That daughters of such mothers as may know
The world by experience rather than by lecture,
Turn out much better for the Smithfield Show
Of vestals brought into the marriage mart,
Than those bred up by prudes without a heart.

XLVII.

I said that Lady Pinchbeck had been talk'd about—-
As who has not, if female, young, and pretty?
But now no more the ghost of Scandal stalk'd about;
She merely was deem'd amiable and witty,
And several of her best bon-mots were hawk'd about:
Then she was given to charity and pity,

And pass'd (at least the latter years of life)
For being a most exemplary wife.