And, secondly, I pity not, because

He had no business to commit a sin, Forbid by heavenly, fined by human, lawsAt least 'twas rather early to begin; But at sixteen the conscience rarely gnaws

So much as when we call our old debts in At sixty years, and draw the accompts of evil, And find a deuced balance with the devil. CLXVIII.

Of his position I can give no notion:

"Tis written in the Hebrew Chronicle, How the physicians, leaving pill and potion, Prescribed by way of blister, a young belle, When old King David's blood grew dull in motion,

And that the medicine answer'd very well: Perhaps 'twas in a different way applied, For David lived, but Juan nearly died.

"Tis to retort with firmness, and when he Suspects with one, do you reproach with three.

CLXXVI.

Julia, in fact, had tolerable grounds—
Alfonso's loves with Inez were well known;
But whether 'twas that one's own guilt con-
founds-

But that can't be, as has been often shown, A lady with apologies abounds;

It might be that her silence sprang alone From delicacy to Don Juan's ear,

To whom she knew his mother's fame was dear. CLXXVII.

There might be one more motive, which makes two,

Alfonso ne'er to Juan had alluded; Mention'd his jealousy, but never who

Had been the happy lover, he concluded,
Conceal'd amongst his premises; 'tis true,
His mind the more o'er this its mystery
brooded:

To speak of Inez now were, one may say,
Like throwing Juan in Alfonso's way.

"Fly, Juan, fly! for heaven's sake-not a word

The door is open-you may yet slip through The passage you so often have explored

Here is the garden-key. Fly-fly-Adieu! Haste-haste! I hear Alfonso's hurrying feetDay has not broke-there's no one in the street"

CLXXXIII.

None can say that this was not good advice: The only mischief was, it came too late : Of all experience 'tis the usual price,

A sort of income-tax laid on by fate: Juan had reach'd the room-door in a trice, And might have done so by the garden-gate, But met Alfonso in his dressing-gown, Who threaten'd death-so Juan knock'd him down.

CXXXIV.

Dire was the scuffle, and out went the light; Antonia cried out "Rape!" and Julia “Fire!" But not a servant stirr'd to aid the fight.

Alfonso, pommell'd to his heart's desire, Swore lustily he'd be revenged this night: And Juan, too, blasphemed an octave higher; His blood was up; though young, he was a Tartar,

And not at all disposed to prove a martyr.

CLXXXV.

Alfonso's sword had dropp'd ere he could draw it, And they continued battling hand to hand, For Julian very luckily ne'er saw it;

His temper not being under great command, If at that moment he had chanced to claw it, Alfonso's days had not been in the land Much longer. Think of husbands', lovers' lives! And how ye may be doubly widows--wives!

CLXXXVI.

Alfonso grappled to detain the foe,

And Juan throttled him to get away, And blood ('twas from the nose) began to flow: At last, as they more faintly wrestling lay, Juan contrived to give an awkward blow,

And then his only garment quite gave way: He fled, like Joseph, leaving it; but there, I doubt, all likeness ends between the pair.

CLXXXVII.

Lights came at length, and men, and maids, who found

An awkward spectacle their eyes before; Antonia in hysterics, Julia swoon'd,

Alfonso leaning breathless by the door; Some half-torn drapery scatter'd on the ground, Some blood and several footsteps, but no more; Juan the gate gain'd, turn'd the key about, And liking not the inside, lock'd the out.

CLXXXVIII.

Here ends this Canto. Need I sing, or say,
How Juan, naked, favour'd by the night,
Who favours what she should not, found his way,
And reach'd his home in an unseemly plight?
The pleasant scandal which arose next day,
The nine days' wonder which was brought to
light,

And how Alfonso sued for a divorce,
Were in the English newspapers, of course.

CLXXXIX.

If you would like to see the whole proceedings, The depositions and the cause at full,

CCIV.

If ever I should condescend to prose,
I'll write poetical commandments, which
Shall supersede beyond all doubt all those

That went before: in these I shall enrich
My text with many things that no one knows,
And carry precept to the highest pitch.
I'll call the work "Longinus o'er a Bottle;
Or, Every Poet his own Aristotle."

CCV.

Thou shalt believe in Milton, Dryden, Pope; Thou shalt not set up Wordsworth, Coleridge, Southey;

Because the first is crazed beyond all hope, The second drunk, the third so quaint and mouthey:

With Crabbe it may be difficult to cope,

And Campbell's Hippocrene is somewhat drouthy;

Thou shalt not steal from Samuel Rogers, nor
Commit-flirtation with the muse of Moore.
CCVI.

'Thou shalt not covet Mr Sotheby's muse,
His Pegasus, nor anything that's his;
Thou shalt not bear false witness like "the
Blues"

(There's one, at least, is very fond of this);
Thou shalt not write, in short, but what I choose;
This is true criticism, and you may kiss-
Exactly as you please, or not-the rod;
But if you don't, I'll lay it on, by G-d!