from Canto XVI

61

And then, the mid-day having worn to one,
     The company prepared to separate;
Some to their several pastimes, or to none,
     Some wondering ‘twas so early, some so late.
There was a goodly match too, to be run
    Between some greyhounds on my Lord’s estate,
And a young race-horse of old pedigree,
Matched for the spring, whom several went to see.

62

There was a picture dealer who had brought
     A special Titian, warranted original,
So precious that it was not to be bought,
     Though princes the possessor were besieging all.
The king himself had cheapened it, but thought
    The Civil List (he deigns to accept, obliging all
His subjects by his gracious acceptation)
Too scanty, in these times of low taxation.

63

But as Lord Henry was a connoisseur,—
     The friend of artists, if not arts,—the owner,
With motives the most classical and pure,
     So that he would have been the very donor,
Rather than seller, had his wants been fewer,
     So much he deemed his patronage an honour,
Had brought the Capo d’opera, not for sale,
But for his judgment,—never known to fail.

64

There was a modern Goth, I mean a Gothic
     Bricklayer of Babel, called an architect,
Brought to survey these grey walls, which though so thick,
     Might have from time acquired some slight defect;
Who, after rummaging the Abbey through thick
     And thin, produced a plan whereby to erect
New buildings of correctest conformation,
And throw down old, which he called restoration.

65

The cost would be a trifle—an “old song”
    Set to some thousands (‘tis the usual burthen
Of that same tune, when people hum it long)—
     The price would speedily repay its worth in
An edifice no less sublime than strong,
     By which Lord Henry’s good taste would go forth in
Its glory, through all ages shining sunny,
For Gothic daring shown in English money.

66

There were two lawyers busy on a mortgage
     Lord Henry wished to raise for a new purchase;
Also a lawsuit upon tenures burgage,
     And one on tithes, which sure are Discord’s torches,
Kindling Religion till she throws down her gage,
    “Untying” squires “to fight against the churches”;
There was a prize ox, a prize pig, and ploughman,
For Henry was a sort of Sabine showman.

67

There were two poachers caught in a steel trap
     Ready for jail, their place of convalescence;
There was a country girl in a close cap
     And scarlet cloak (I hate the sight to see, since—
Since—since—in youth, I had the sad mishap—
     But luckily I have paid few parish fees since)
That scarlet cloak, alas! unclosed with Rigour,
Presents the problem of a double figure.

68

A reel within a bottle is a mystery,
     One can’t tell how it e’er got in or out,
Therefore the present piece of natural history,
     I leave to those who are fond of solving doubt,
And merely state, though not for the consistory,
     Lord Henry was a justice, and that Scout
The constable, beneath a warrant’s banner,
Had bagged this poacher upon Nature’s manor.

69

Now Justices of Peace must judge all pieces
     Of mischief of all kinds, and keep the game
And morals of the country from caprices
     Of those who have not a licence for the same;
And of all things, excepting tithes and leases,
     Perhaps these are most difficult to tame:
Preserving partridges and pretty wenches
Are puzzles to the most precautious benches.

70

The present culprit was extremely pale,
     Pale as if painted so; her cheek being red
By nature, as in higher dames less hale
     ‘Tis white, at least when they just rise from bed.
Perhaps she was ashamed of seeming frail,
     Poor soul! for she was country born and bred,
And knew no better in her immorality
Than to wax white—for blushes are for quality.