from Canto XII

51

How far it profits is another matter.—
     Our hero gladly saw his little charge
Safe with a lady, whose last grown-up daughter
     Being long married, and thus set at large,
Had left all the accomplishments she taught her
     To be transmitted, like the Lord Mayor’s barge,
To the next comer; or—as it will tell
More Muse-like—say like Cytherea’s shell.

52

I call such things transmission; for there is
     A floating balance of accomplishment
Which forms a pedigree from Miss to Miss,
     According as their minds or backs are bent.
Some waltz; some draw; some fathom the abyss
     Of metaphysics; others are content
With music; the most moderate shine as wits,
While others have a genius turned for fits.

53

But whether fits, or wits, or harpsichords,
     Theology, Fine Arts, or finer stays
May be the baits for gentlemen or lords,
     With regular descent, in these our days
The last year to the new transfers its hoards;
    New vestals claim men’s eyes with the same praise
Of “elegant” et cetera, in fresh batches—
All matchless creatures and yet bent on matches.

54

But now I will begin my poem.—’Tis
     Perhaps a little strange, if not quite new,
That from the first of Cantos up to this
     I’ve not begun what we have to go through.
These first twelve books are merely flourishes,
    Preludios, trying just a string or two
Upon my lyre, or making the pegs sure;
And when so, you shall have the overture.

55

My Muses do not care a pinch of rosin
     About what’s called success, or not succeeding:
Such thoughts are quite below the strain they have chosen;
     ‘Tis a “great moral lesson” they are reading.
I thought, at setting off, about two dozen
     Cantos would do; but at Apollo’s pleading,
If that my Pegasus should not be foundered,
I think to canter gently through a hundred.

56

Don Juan saw that microcosm on stilts,
    Yclept the Great World; for it is the least,
Although the highest: but as swords have hilts
    By which their power of mischief is encreased,
When man in battle or in quarrel tilts,
     Thus the low world, north, south, or west, or east,
Must still obey the high—which is their handle,
Their moon, their sun, their gas, their farthing candle.

57

He had many friends who had many wives, and was
     Well looked upon by both, to that extent
Of friendship which you may accept or pass,
     It does nor good nor harm; being merely meant
To keep the wheels going of the higher class,
     And draw them nightly when a ticket’s sent:
And what with masquerades, and ftes, and balls,
For the first season such a life scarce palls.

58

A young unmarried man, with a good name
     And fortune, has an awkward part to play;
For good society is but a game,
     “The royal game of Goose,” as I may say,
Where every body has some separate aim,
     An end to answer, or a plan to lay—
The single ladies wishing to be double,
The married ones to save the virgins trouble.

59

I don’t mean this as general, but particular
     Examples may be found of such pursuits:
Though several also keep their perpendicular
    Like poplars, with good principles for roots;
Yet many have a method more reticular—
     “Fishers for men,” like Sirens with soft lutes;
For talk six times with the same single lady,
And you may get the wedding dresses ready.

60

Perhaps you’ll have a letter from the mother,
    To say her daughter’s feelings are trepanned;
Perhaps you’ll have a visit from the brother,
     All strut and stays and whiskers, to demand
What “your intentions are”?—One way or other
     It seems the virgin’s heart expects your hand;
And between pity for her case and yours,
You’ll add to Matrimony’s list of cures.