from Canto XII

21

I’m serious—so are all men upon paper;
     And why should I not form my speculation,
And hold up to the sun my little taper?
    Mankind just now seem wrapt in meditation
On Constitutions and Steam-boats of vapour;
     While sages write against all procreation,
Unless a man can calculate his means
Of feeding brats the moment his wife weans.

22

That’s noble! That’s romantic! For my part,
    I think that “Philo-genitiveness” is—
(Now here’s a word quite after my own heart,
     Though there’s a shorter a good deal than this,
If that politeness set it not apart,
     But I’m resolved to say nought that’s amiss)—
I say, methinks that “Philo-genitiveness”
Might meet from men a little more forgiveness.

23

And now to business. Oh, my gentle Juan!
     Thou art in London—in that pleasant place
Where every kind of mischief’s daily brewing
     Which can await warm youth in its wild race.
‘Tis true that thy career is not a new one;
     Thou are no novice in the headlong chase
Of early life; but this is a new land
Which foreigners can never understand.

24

What with a small diversity of climate,
     Of hot or cold, mercurial or sedate,
I could send forth my mandate like a primate
     Upon the rest of Europe’s social state;
But thou art the most difficult to rhyme at,
     Great Britain, which the Muse may penetrate:
All countries have their “Lions,” but in thee
There is but one superb menagerie.

25

But I am sick of politics. Begin,
    “Paulo Majora.” Juan, undecided
Amongst the paths of being “taken in,”
    Above the ice had like a skaiter glided:
When tired of play, he flirted without sin
     With some of those fair creatures who have prided
Themselves on innocent tantalization,
And hate all vice except its reputation.

26

But these are few, and in the end they make
     Some devilish escapade or stir, which shows
That even the purest people may mistake
     Their way through Virtue’s primrose paths of snows;
And then men stare, as if a new ass spake
    To Balaam, and from tongue to ear o’erflows
Quick silver Small Talk, ending (if you note it)
With the kind world’s Amen!—”Who would have thought it?”

27

The little Leila, with her orient eyes
     And taciturn Asiatic disposition,
(Which saw all Western things with small surprise,
     To the surprise of people of condition,
Who think that novelties are butterflies
    To be pursued as food for inanition)
Her charming figure and romantic history
Became a kind of fashionable mystery.

28

The women much divided—as is usual
     Amongst the sex in little things or great.
Think not, fair creatures, that I mean to abuse you all—
     I have always liked you better than I state:
Since I’ve grown moral, still I must accuse you all
     Of being apt to talk at a great rate;
And now there was a general sensation
Amongst you, about Leila’s education.

29

In one point only were you settled—and
     You had reason;—’twas that a young Child of Grace,
As beautiful as her own native land,
     And far away, the last bud of her race,
Howe’er our friend Don Juan might command
     Himself for five, four, three, or two years’ space,
Would be much better taught beneath the eye
Of Peeresses whose follies had run dry.

30

So first there was a generous emulation,
     And then there was a general competition
To undertake the orphan’s education.
     As Juan was a person of condition,
It had been an affront on this occasion
     To talk of a subscription or petition;
But sixteen dowagers, ten unwed she sages,
Whose tale belongs to “Hallam’s Middle Ages,”