from Canto XII

31

And one or two sad, separate wives, without
     A fruit to bloom upon their withering bough,
Begged to bring up the little girl, and “out,”—
     For that’s the phrase that settles all things now,
Meaning a virgin’s first blush at a rout,
     And all her points as thorough-bred to show:
And I assure you, that like virgin honey
Tastes their first season (mostly if they have money).

32

How all the needy honourable misters,
     Each out-at-elbow peer, or desperate dandy
The watchful mothers and the careful sisters
     (Who, by the by, when clever, are more handy
At making matches, where ”’tis gold that glisters,”
     Than their he relatives) like flies o’er candy
Buzz round “the Fortune” with their busy battery,
To turn her head with waltzing and with flattery!

33

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.
“Tantaene!” 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.

34

Some are soon bagged, but 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?

35

“Why?—Why?—Besides, Fred. really was attached;
     ‘Twas not her fortune—he has enough without:
The time will come she’ll wish that she had snatched
     So good an opportunity, no doubt:—
But the old marchioness some plan has hatched,
     As I’ll tell Aurea at to-morrow’s rout:
And after all poor Frederick may do better—
Pray did you see her answer to his letter?”

36

Smart uniforms and sparkling coronets
     Are spurned 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.

37

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 turned of forty’s sure
     (If ‘tis 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.

38

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 reformed 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.

39

Oh, pardon me 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.

40

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.