from Canto XV

71

Alas! I must leave undescribed the gibier,
    The salmi, the consomm, the pure,
All which I use to make my rhymes run glibber
     Than could roast beef in our rough John Bull way:
I must not introduce even a spare rib here,
     “Bubble and squeak” would spoil my liquid lay;
But I have dined, and must forego, alas!
The chaste description even of a “Bcasse,”

72

And fruits, and ice, and all that art refines
     From nature for the service of the got,—
Taste or the gout,—pronounce it as inclines
     Your stomach! Ere you dine, the French will do;
But after, there are sometimes certain signs
     Which prove plain English truer of the two.
Hast ever had the gout? I have not had it—
But I may have, and you too, Reader, dread it.

73

The simple olives, best allies of wine,
     Must I pass over in my bill of fare?
I must, although a favourite “plat” of mine
     In Spain, and Lucca, Athens, every where:
On them and bread ‘twas oft my luck to dine,
     The grass my table-cloth, in open air,
On Sunium or Hymettus, like Diogenes,
Of whom half my philosophy the progeny is.

74

Amidst this tumult of fish, flesh, and fowl,
     And vegetables, all in masquerade,
The guests were placed according to their roll,
     But various as the various meats display’d:
Don Juan sat next an ” l’Espagnole”—
     No damsel, but a dish, as hath been said;
But so far like a lady, that ‘twas drest
Superbly, and contained a world of zest,

75

By some odd chance too he was placed between
     Aurora and the Lady Adeline—
A situation difficult, I ween,
     For man therein, with eyes and heart, to dine.
Also the conference which we have seen
     Was not such as to encourage him to shine;
For Adeline, addressing few words to him,
With two transcendant eyes seemed to look through him.

76

I sometimes almost think that eyes have ears:
     This much is sure, that, out of earshot, things
Are somehow echoed to the pretty dears,
     Of which I can’t tell whence their knowledge springs;
Like that same mystic music of the spheres,
     Which no one hears so loudly though it rings.
‘Tis wonderful how oft the sex have heard
Long dialogues which pass’d without a word!

77

Aurora sat with that indifference
    Which piques a preux Chevalier—as it ought:
Of all offences that’s the worst offence,
     Which seems to hint you are not worth a thought.
Now Juan, though no coxcomb in pretence,
     Was not exactly pleased to be so caught:
Like a good ship entangled among ice,
And after so much excellent advice.

78

To his gay nothings, nothing was replied,
    Or something which was nothing, as urbanity
Required. Aurora scarcely look’d aside,
     Nor even smiled enough for any vanity.
The devil was in the girl! Could it be pride?
    Or modesty, or absence, or inanity?
Heaven knows! But Adeline’s malicious eyes
Sparkled with her successful prophecies,

79

And look’d as much as if to say, “I said it”;—
     A kind of triumph I’ll not recommend,
Because it sometimes, as I’ve seen or read it,
     Both in the case of lover and of friend,
Will pique a gentleman, for his own credit,
     To bring what was a jest to a serious end:
For all men prophesy what is or was,
And hate those who won’t let them come to pass.

80

Juan was drawn thus into some attentions,
     Slight but select, and just enough to express,
To females of perspicuous comprehensions,
     That he would rather make them more than less.
Aurora at the last (so history mentions,
     Though probably much less a fact than guess)
So far relax’d her thoughts from their sweet prison,
As once or twice to smile, if not to listen.