CANTO THE FIFTH02

Provided always your great goodness still

Remits the matter to our own free-will.'

Baba eyed Juan, and said, 'Be so good

As dress yourself-' and pointed out a suit

In which a Princess with great pleasure would

Array her limbs; but Juan standing mute,

As not being in a masquerading mood,

Gave it a slight kick with his Christian foot;

And when the old negro told him to 'Get ready,'

Replied, 'Old gentleman, I 'm not a lady.'

'What you may be, I neither know nor care,'

Said Baba; 'but pray do as I desire:

I have no more time nor many words to spare.'

'At least,' said Juan, 'sure I may enquire

The cause of this odd travesty?'—'Forbear,'

Said Baba, 'to be curious; 't will transpire,

No doubt, in proper place, and time, and season:

I have no authority to tell the reason.'

'Then if I do,' said Juan, 'I 'll be-'—'Hold!'

Rejoin'd the negro, 'pray be not provoking;

This spirit 's well, but it may wax too bold,

And you will fin us not top fond of joking.'

'What, sir!' said Juan, 'shall it e'er be told

That I unsex'd my dress?' But Baba, stroking

The things down, said, 'Incense me, and I call

Those who will leave you of no sex at all.

'I offer you a handsome suit of clothes:

A woman's, true; but then there is a cause

Why you should wear them.'—'What, though my soul loathes

The effeminate garb?'—thus, after a short pause,

Sigh'd Juan, muttering also some slight oaths,

'What the devil shall I do with all this gauze?'

Thus he profanely term'd the fines lace

Which e'er set off a marriage-morning face.

And then he swore; and, sighing, on he slipp'd

A pair of trousers of flesh-colour' silk;

Next with a virgin zone he was equipp'd,

Which girt a slight chemise as white as milk;

But tugging on his petticoat, he tripp'd,

Which—as we say—or, as the Scotch say, whilk

(The rhyme obliges me to this; sometimes

Monarchs are less imperative than rhymes)—

Whilk, which (or what you please), was owing to

His garment's novelty, and his being awkward:

And yet at last he managed to get through

His toilet, though no doubt a little backward:

The negro Baba help'd a little too,

When some untoward part of raiment stuck hard;

And, wrestling both his arms into a gown,

He paused, and took a survey up and down.

One difficult still remain'd—his hair

Was hardly long enough; but Baba found

So many false long tresses all to spare,

That soon his head was most completely crown'd,

After the manner then in fashion there;

And this addition with such gems was bound

As suited the ensemble of his toilet,

While Baba made him comb his head and oil it.

And now being femininely all array'd,

With some small aid from scissors, paint, and tweezers,

He look'd in almost all respects a maid,

And Baba smilingly exclaim'd, 'You see, sirs,

A perfect transformation here display'd;

And now, then, you must come along with me,sirs,

That is—the Lady:' clapping his hands twice,

Four blacks were at his elbow in a trice.

'You, sir,' said Baba, nodding to the one,

'Will please to accompany those gentlemen

To supper; but you, worthy Christian nun,

Will follow me: no trifling sir; for when

I say a thing, it must at once be done.

What fear you? think you this a lion's den?

Why, 't is a palace; where the truly wise

Anticipate the Prophet's paradise.

'You fool! I tell you no one means you harm.'

'So much the better,' Juan said, 'for them;

Else they shall feel the weight of this my arm,

Which is not quite so light as you may deem.

I yield thus far; but soon will break the charm

If any take me for that which I seem:

So that I trust for everybody's sake,

That this disguise may lead to no mistake.'

'Blockhead! come on, and see,' quoth Baba; while

Don Juan, turning to his comrade, who

Though somewhat grieved, could scarce forbear a smile

Upon the metamorphosis in view,—

'Farewell!' they mutually exclaim'd: 'this soil

Seems fertile in adventures strange and new;

One 's turn'd half Mussulman, and one a maid,

By this old black enchanter's unsought aid.'

'Farewell!' said Juan: 'should we meet no more,

I wish you a good appetite.'—'Farewell!'

Replied the other; 'though it grieves me sore;

When we next meet we 'll have a tale to tell:

We needs must follow when Fate puts from shore.

Keep your good name; though Eve herself once fell.'

'Nay,' quoth the maid, 'the Sultan's self shan't carry me,

Unless his highness promises to marry me.

And thus they parted, each by separate doors;

Baba led Juan onward room by room

Through glittering galleries and o'er marble floors

Till a gigantic portal through the gloom,

Haughty and huge, along the distance lowers;

And wafted far arose a rich perfume:

It seem'd as though they came upon a shrine,

For all was vast, still, fragrant, and divine.

The giant door was broad, and bright, and high,

Of gilded bronze, and carved in curious guise;

Warriors thereon were battling furiously;

Here stalks the victor, there the vanquish'd lies;

There captives led in triumph droop the eye,

And in perspective many a squadron flies

It seems the work of times before the line

Of Rome transplanted fell with Constantine.

This massy portal stood at the wide close

Of a huge hall, and on its either side

Two little dwarfs, the least you could suppose,

Were sate, like ugly imps, as if allied

In mockery to the enormous gate which rose

O'er them in almost pyramidic pride:

The gate so splendid was in all its features,

You never thought about those little creatures,

Until you nearly trod on them, and then

You started back in horror to survey

The wondrous hideousness of those small men,

Whose colour was not black, nor white, nor grey,

But an extraneous mixture, which no pen

Can trace, although perhaps the pencil may;

They were mis-shapen pigmies, deaf and dumb—

Monsters, who cost a no less monstrous sum.

Their duty was—for they were strong, and though

They look'd so little, did strong things at times—

To ope this door, which they could really do,

The hinges being as smooth as Rogers' rhymes;

And now and then, with tough strings of the bow,

As is the custom of those Eastern climes,

To give some rebel Pacha a cravat;

For mutes are generally used for that.

They spoke by signs—that is, not spoke at all;

And looking like two incubi, they glared

As Baba with his finger made them fall

To heaving back the portal folds: it scared

Juan a moment, as this pair so small

With shrinking serpent optics on him stared;

It was as if their little looks could poison

Or fascinate whome'er they fix' their eyes on.

Before they enter'd, Baba paused to hint

To Juan some slight lessons as his guide:

'If you could just contrive,' he said, 'to stint

That somewhat manly majesty of stride,

'T would be as well, and (though there 's not much in't)

To swing a little less from side to side,

Which has at times an aspect of the oddest;—

And also could you look a little modest,

''T would be convenient; for these mutes have eyes

Like needles, which may pierce those petticoats;

And if they should discover your disguise,

You know how near us the deep Bosphorus floats

And you and I may chance, ere morning rise,

To fin our way to Marmora without boats,

Stitch'd up in sacks—a mode of navigation

A good deal practised here upon occasion.'

With this encouragement, he led the way

Into a room still nobler than the last;

A rich confusion form'd a disarray

In such sort, that the eye along it cast

Could hardly carry anything away,

Object on object flash' so bright and fast;

A dazzling mass of gems, and gold, and glitter,

Magnificentl mingled in a litter.

Wealth had done wonders—taste not much; such things

Occur in Orient palaces, and even

In the more chasten'd domes of Western kings

(Of which I have also seen some six or seven),

Where I can't say or gold or diamond fling

Great lustre, there is much to be forgiven;

Groups of bad statues, tables, chairs, and pictures,

On which I cannot pause to make my strictures.

In this imperial hall, at distance lay

Under a canopy, and there reclined

Quite in a confidentia queenly way,

A lady; Baba stopp'd, and kneeling sign'd

To Juan, who though not much used to pray,

Knelt down by instinct, wondering in his mind,

What all this meant: while Baba bow'd and bended

His head, until the ceremony ended.

The lady rising up with such an air

As Venus rose with from the wave, on them

Bent like an antelope a Paphian pair

Of eyes, which put out each surrounding gem;

And raising up an arm as moonlight fair,

She sign'd to Baba, who firs kiss'd the hem

Of her deep purple robe, and speaking low,

Pointed to Juan who remain'd below.

Her presence was as lofty as her state;

Her beauty of that overpowering kind,

Whose force description only would abate:

I 'd rather leave it much to your own mind,

Than lessen it by what I could relate

Of forms and features; it would strike you blind

Could I do justice to the full detail;

So, luckily for both, my phrases fail.

Thus much however I may add,—her years

Were ripe, they might make six-and-twenty springs;

But there are forms which Time to touch forbears,

And turns aside his scythe to vulgar things,

Such as was Mary's Queen of Scots; true—tears

And love destroy; and sapping sorrow wrings

Charms from the charmer, yet some never grow

Ugly; for instance—Ninon de l'Enclos.

She spake some words to her attendants, who

Composed a choir of girls, ten or a dozen,

And were all clad alike; like Juan, too,

Who wore their uniform, by Baba chosen;

They form'd a very nymph-like looking crew,

Which might have call'd Diana's chorus 'cousin,'

As far as outward show may correspond;

I won't be bail for anything beyond.

They bow'd obeisance and withdrew, retiring,

But not by the same door through which came in

Baba and Juan, which last stood admiring,

At some small distance, all he saw within

This strange saloon, much fitte for inspiring

Marvel and praise; for both or none things win;

And I must say, I ne'er could see the very

Great happiness of the 'Nil Admirari.'

'Not to admire is all the art I know

(Plain truth, dear Murray, needs few flowers of speech)

To make men happy, or to keep them so'

(So take it in the very words of Creech)—

Thus Horace wrote we all know long ago;

And thus Pope quotes the precept to re-teach

From his translation; but had none admired,

Would Pope have sung, or Horace been inspired?

Baba, when all the damsels were withdrawn,

Motion'd to Juan to approach, and then

A second time desired him to kneel down,

And kiss the lady's foot; which maxim when

He heard repeated, Juan with a frown

Drew himself up to his full height again,

And said, 'It grieved him, but he could not stoop

To any shoe, unless it shod the Pope.'

Baba, indignant at this ill-timed pride,

Made fierc remonstrances, and then a threat

He mutter'd (but the last was given aside)

About a bow-string—quite in vain; not yet

Would Juan bend, though 't were to Mahomet's bride:

There 's nothing in the world like etiquette

In kingly chambers or imperial halls,

As also at the race and county balls.

He stood like Atlas, with a world of words

About his ears, and nathless would not bend:

The blood of all his line 's Castilian lords

Boil'd in his veins, and rather than descend

To stain his pedigree a thousand swords

A thousand times of him had made an end;

At length perceiving the 'foot' could not stand,

Baba proposed that he should kiss the hand.

Here was an honourable compromise,

A half-way house of diplomatic rest,

Where they might meet in much more peaceful guise;

And Juan now his willingness exprest

To use all fi and proper courtesies,

Adding, that this was commonest and best,

For through the South the custom still commands

The gentleman to kiss the lady's hands.

And he advanced, though with but a bad grace,

Though on more thorough-bred or fairer finger

No lips e'er left their transitory trace;

On such as these the lip too fondly lingers,

And for one kiss would fain imprint a brace,

As you will see, if she you love shall bring hers

In contact; and sometimes even a fair stranger's

An almost twelvemonth's constancy endangers.

The lady eyed him o'er and o'er, and bade

Baba retire, which he obey'd in style,

As if well used to the retreating trade;

And taking hints in good part all the while,

He whisper'd Juan not to be afraid,

And looking on him with a sort of smile,

Took leave, with such a face of satisfaction

As good men wear who have done a virtuous action.

When he was gone, there was a sudden change:

I know not what might be the lady's thought,

But o'er her bright brow flash' a tumult strange,

And into her dear cheek the blood was brought,

Blood-red as sunset summer clouds which range

The verge of Heaven; and in her large eyes wrought,

A mixture of sensations might be scann'd,

Of half voluptuousness and half command.

Her form had all the softness of her sex,

Her features all the sweetness of the devil,

When he put on the cherub to perplex

Eve, and paved (God knows how) the road to evil;

The sun himself was scarce more free from specks

Than she from aught at which the eye could cavil;

Yet, somehow, there was something somewhere wanting,

As if she rather order'd than was granting.

Something imperial, or imperious, threw

A chain o'er all she did; that is, a chain

Was thrown as 't were about the neck of you,—

And rapture's self will seem almost a pain

With aught which looks like despotism in view:

Our souls at least are free, and 't is in vain

We would against them make the fles obey—

The spirit in the end will have its way.

Her very smile was haughty, though so sweet;

Her very nod was not an inclination;

There was a self-will even in her small feet,

As though they were quite conscious of her station—

They trod as upon necks; and to complete

Her state (it is the custom of her nation),

A poniard deck'd her girdle, as the sign

She was a sultan's bride (thank Heaven, not mine!).

'To hear and to obey' had been from birth

The law of all around her; to fulfil

All phantasies which yielded joy or mirth,

Had been her slaves' chief pleasure, as her will;

Her blood was high, her beauty scarce of earth:

Judge, then, if her caprices e'er stood still;

Had she but been a Christian, I 've a notion

We should have found out the 'perpetual motion.'

Whate'er she saw and coveted was brought;

Whate'er she did not see, if she supposed

It might be seen, with diligence was sought,

And when 't was found straightway the bargain closed;

There was no end unto the things she bought,

Nor to the trouble which her fancies caused;

Yet even her tyranny had such a grace,

The women pardon'd all except her face.

Juan, the latest of her whims, had caught

Her eye in passing on his way to sale;

She order'd him directly to be bought,

And Baba, who had ne'er been known to fail

In any kind of mischief to be wrought,

At all such auctions knew how to prevail:

She had no prudence, but he had; and this

Explains the garb which Juan took amiss.

His youth and features favour'd the disguise,

And, should you ask how she, a sultan's bride,

Could risk or compass such strange phantasies,

This I must leave sultanas to decide:

Emperors are only husbands in wives' eyes,

And kings and consorts oft are mystified

As we may ascertain with due precision,

Some by experience, others by tradition.

But to the main point, where we have been tending:—

She now conceived all difficultie past,

And deem'd herself extremely condescending

When, being made her property at last,

Without more preface, in her blue eyes blending

Passion and power, a glance on him she cast,

And merely saying, 'Christian, canst thou love?'

Conceived that phrase was quite enough to move

And so it was, in proper time and place;

But Juan, who had still his mind o'erflowin

With Haidee's isle and soft Ionian face,

Felt the warm blood, which in his face was glowing,

Rush back upon his heart, which fill' apace,

And left his cheeks as pale as snowdrops blowing;

These words went through his soul like Arab-spears,

So that he spoke not, but burst into tears.

She was a good deal shock'd; not shock'd at tears,

For women shed and use them at their liking;

But there is something when man's eye appears

Wet, still more disagreeable and striking;

A woman's tear-drop melts, a man's half sears,

Like molten lead, as if you thrust a pike in

His heart to force it out, for (to be shorter)

To them 't is a relief, to us a torture.

And she would have consoled, but knew not how:

Having no equals, nothing which had e'er

Infected her with sympathy till now,

And never having dreamt what 't was to bear

Aught of a serious, sorrowing kind, although

There might arise some pouting petty care

To cross her brow, she wonder'd how so near

Her eyes another's eye could shed a tear.

But nature teaches more than power can spoil,

And, when a strong although a strange sensation

Moves—female hearts are such a genial soil

For kinder feelings, whatsoe'er their nation,

They naturally pour the 'wine and oil,'

Samaritans in every situation;

And thus Gulbeyaz, though she knew not why,

Felt an odd glistening moisture in her eye.

But tears must stop like all things else; and soon

Juan, who for an instant had been moved

To such a sorrow by the intrusive tone

Of one who dared to ask if 'he had loved,'

Call'd back the stoic to his eyes, which shone

Bright with the very weakness he reproved;

And although sensitive to beauty, he

Felt most indignant still at not being free.

Gulbeyaz, for the firs time in her days,

Was much embarrass'd, never having met

In all her life with aught save prayers and praise;

And as she also risk'd her life to get

Him whom she meant to tutor in love's ways

Into a comfortable tete-a-tete,

To lose the hour would make her quite a martyr,

And they had wasted now almost a quarter.

I also would suggest the fittin time

To gentlemen in any such like case,

That is to say in a meridian clime—

With us there is more law given to the chase,

But here a small delay forms a great crime:

So recollect that the extremest grace

Is just two minutes for your declaration—

A moment more would hurt your reputation.

Juan's was good; and might have been still better,

But he had got Haidee into his head:

However strange, he could not yet forget her,

Which made him seem exceedingly ill-bred.

Gulbeyaz, who look'd on him as her debtor

For having had him to her palace led,

Began to blush up to the eyes, and then

Grow deadly pale, and then blush back again.

At length, in an imperial way, she laid

Her hand on his, and bending on him eyes

Which needed not an empire to persuade,

Look'd into his for love, where none replies:

Her brow grew black, but she would not upbraid,

That being the last thing a proud woman tries;

She rose, and pausing one chaste moment, threw

Herself upon his breast, and there she grew.

This was an awkward test, as Juan found,

But he was steel'd by sorrow, wrath, and pride:

With gentle force her white arms he unwound,

And seated her all drooping by his side,

Then rising haughtily he glanced around,

And looking coldly in her face, he cried,

'The prison'd eagle will not pair, nor

Serve a Sultana's sensual phantasy.

'Thou ask'st if I can love? be this the proof

How much I have loved—that I love not thee!

In this vile garb, the distaff, web, and woof,

Were fitte for me: Love is for the free!

I am not dazzled by this splendid roof,

Whate'er thy power, and great it seems to be;

Heads bow, knees bend, eyes watch around a throne,

And hands obey—our hearts are still our own.'

This was a truth to us extremely trite;

Not so to her, who ne'er had heard such things:

She deem'd her least command must yield delight,

Earth being only made for queens and kings.

If hearts lay on the left side or the right

She hardly knew, to such perfection brings

Legitimacy its born votaries, when

Aware of their due royal rights o'er men.

Besides, as has been said, she was so fair

As even in a much humbler lot had made

A kingdom or confusion anywhere,

And also, as may be presumed, she laid

Some stress on charms, which seldom are, if e'er,

By their possessors thrown into the shade:

She thought hers gave a double 'right divine;'

And half of that opinion 's also mine.

Remember, or (if you can not) imagine,

Ye, who have kept your chastity when young,

While some more desperate dowager has been waging

Love with you, and been in the dog-days stung

By your refusal, recollect her raging!

Or recollect all that was said or sung

On such a subject; then suppose the face

Of a young downright beauty in this case.

Suppose,—but you already have supposed,

The spouse of Potiphar, the Lady Booby,

Phaedra, and all which story has disclosed

Of good examples; pity that so few by

Poets and private tutors are exposed,

To educate—ye youth of Europe—you by!

But when you have supposed the few we know,

You can't suppose Gulbeyaz' angry brow.

A tigress robb'd of young, a lioness,

Or any interesting beast of prey,

Are similes at hand for the distress

Of ladies who can not have their own way;

But though my turn will not be served with less,

These don't express one half what I should say:

For what is stealing young ones, few or many,

To cutting short their hopes of having any?

The love of offspring 's nature's general law,

From tigresses and cubs to ducks and ducklings;

There 's nothing whets the beak, or arms the claw

Like an invasion of their babes and sucklings;

And all who have seen a human nursery, saw

How mothers love their children's squalls and chucklings;

This strong extreme effect (to tire no longer

Your patience) shows the cause must still be stronger.

If I said fir flash' from Gulbeyaz' eyes,

'T were nothing—for her eyes flash' always fire

Or said her cheeks assumed the deepest dyes,

I should but bring disgrace upon the dyer,

So supernatural was her passion's rise;

For ne'er till now she knew a check'd desire:

Even ye who know what a check'd woman is

(Enough, God knows!) would much fall short of this.

Her rage was but a minute's, and 't was well—

A moment's more had slain her; but the while

It lasted 't was like a short glimpse of hell:

Nought 's more sublime than energetic bile,

Though horrible to see yet grand to tell,

Like ocean warring 'gainst a rocky isle;

And the deep passions flashin through her form

Made her a beautiful embodied storm.

A vulgar tempest 't were to a typhoon

To match a common fury with her rage,

And yet she did not want to reach the moon,

Like moderate Hotspur on the immortal page;

Her anger pitch'd into a lower tune,

Perhaps the fault of her soft sex and age—

Her wish was but to 'kill, kill, kill,' like Lear's,

And then her thirst of blood was quench'd in tears.

A storm it raged, and like the storm it pass'd,

Pass'd without words—in fact she could not speak;

And then her sex's shame broke in at last,

A sentiment till then in her but weak,

But now it flow' in natural and fast,

As water through an unexpected leak;

For she felt humbled—and humiliation

Is sometimes good for people in her station

It teaches them that they are fles and blood,

It also gently hints to them that others,

Although of clay, are yet not quite of mud;

That urns and pipkins are but fragile brothers,

And works of the same pottery, bad or good,

Though not all born of the same sires and mothers:

It teaches—Heaven knows only what it teaches,

But sometimes it may mend, and often reaches.

Her firs thought was to cut off Juan's head;

Her second, to cut only his—acquaintance;

Her third, to ask him where he had been bred;

Her fourth, to rally him into repentance;

Her fifth to call her maids and go to bed;

Her sixth, to stab herself; her seventh, to sentence

The lash to Baba:—but her grand resource

Was to sit down again, and cry of course.

She thought to stab herself, but then she had

The dagger close at hand, which made it awkward;

For Eastern stays are little made to pad,

So that a poniard pierces if 't is stuck hard:

She thought of killing Juan—but, poor lad!

Though he deserved it well for being so backward,

The cutting off his head was not the art

Most likely to attain her aim—his heart.

Juan was moved; he had made up his mind

To be impaled, or quarter'd as a dish

For dogs, or to be slain with pangs refined

Or thrown to lions, or made baits for fish

And thus heroically stood resign'd,

Rather than sin—except to his own wish:

But all his great preparatives for dying

Dissolved like snow before a woman crying.

As through his palms Bob Acres' valour oozed,

So Juan's virtue ebb'd, I know not how;

And firs he wonder'd why he had refused;

And then, if matters could be made up now;

And next his savage virtue he accused,

Just as a friar may accuse his vow,

Or as a dame repents her of her oath,

Which mostly ends in some small breach of both.

So he began to stammer some excuses;

But words are not enough in such a matter,

Although you borrow'd all that e'er the muses

Have sung, or even a Dandy's dandiest chatter,

Or all the figure Castlereagh abuses;

Just as a languid smile began to flatte

His peace was making, but before he ventured

Further, old Baba rather briskly enter'd.

'Bride of the Sun! and Sister of the Moon!'

('T was thus he spake) 'and Empress of the Earth!

Whose frown would put the spheres all out of tune,

Whose smile makes all the planets dance with mirth,

Your slave brings tidings—he hopes not too soon—

Which your sublime attention may be worth:

The Sun himself has sent me like a ray,

To hint that he is coming up this way.'

'Is it,' exclaim'd Gulbeyaz, 'as you say?

I wish to heaven he would not shine till morning!

But bid my women form the milky way.

Hence, my old comet! give the stars due warning—

And, Christian! mingle with them as you may,

And as you 'd have me pardon your past scorning-'

Here they were interrupted by a humming

Sound, and then by a cry, 'The Sultan 's coming!'

First came her damsels, a decorous file

And then his Highness' eunuchs, black and white;

The train might reach a quarter of a mile:

His majesty was always so polite

As to announce his visits a long while

Before he came, especially at night;

For being the last wife of the Emperour,

She was of course the favorite of the four.

His Highness was a man of solemn port,

Shawl'd to the nose, and bearded to the eyes,

Snatch'd from a prison to preside at court,

His lately bowstrung brother caused his rise;

He was as good a sovereign of the sort

As any mention'd in the histories

Of Cantemir, or Knolles, where few shine

Save Solyman, the glory of their line.

He went to mosque in state, and said his prayers

With more than 'Oriental scrupulosity;'

He left to his vizier all state affairs,

And show'd but little royal curiosity:

I know not if he had domestic cares—

No process proved connubial animosity;

Four wives and twice fiv hundred maids, unseen,

Were ruled as calmly as a Christian queen.

If now and then there happen'd a slight slip,

Little was heard of criminal or crime;

The story scarcely pass'd a single lip—

The sack and sea had settled all in time,

From which the secret nobody could rip:

The Public knew no more than does this rhyme;

No scandals made the daily press a curse—

Morals were better, and the fis no worse.

He saw with his own eyes the moon was round,

Was also certain that the earth was square,

Because he had journey'd fift miles, and found

No sign that it was circular anywhere;

His empire also was without a bound:

'T is true, a little troubled here and there,

By rebel pachas, and encroaching giaours,

But then they never came to 'the Seven Towers;'

Except in shape of envoys, who were sent

To lodge there when a war broke out, according

To the true law of nations, which ne'er meant

Those scoundrels, who have never had a sword in

Their dirty diplomatic hands, to vent

Their spleen in making strife, and safely wording

Their lies, yclep'd despatches, without risk or

The singeing of a single inky whisker.

He had fift daughters and four dozen sons,

Of whom all such as came of age were stow'd,

The former in a palace, where like nuns

They lived till some Bashaw was sent abroad,

When she, whose turn it was, was wed at once,

Sometimes at six years old—though it seems odd,

'T is true; the reason is, that the Bashaw

Must make a present to his sire in law.

His sons were kept in prison, till they grew

Of years to fil a bowstring or the throne,

One or the other, but which of the two

Could yet be known unto the fates alone;

Meantime the education they went through

Was princely, as the proofs have always shown:

So that the heir apparent still was found

No less deserving to be hang'd than crown'd.

His majesty saluted his fourth spouse

With all the ceremonies of his rank,

Who clear'd her sparkling eyes and smooth'd her brows,

As suits a matron who has play'd a prank;

These must seem doubly mindful of their vows,

To save the credit of their breaking bank:

To no men are such cordial greetings given

As those whose wives have made them fit for heaven.

His Highness cast around his great black eyes,

And looking, as he always look'd, perceived

Juan amongst the damsels in disguise,

At which he seem'd no whit surprised nor grieved,

But just remark'd with air sedate and wise,

While still a flutterin sigh Gulbeyaz heaved,

'I see you 've bought another girl; 't is pity

That a mere Christian should be half so pretty.'

This compliment, which drew all eyes upon

The new-bought virgin, made her blush and shake.

Her comrades, also, thought themselves undone:

O! Mahomet! that his majesty should take

Such notice of a giaour, while scarce to one

Of them his lips imperial ever spake!

There was a general whisper, toss, and wriggle,

But etiquette forbade them all to giggle.

The Turks do well to shut—at least, sometimes—

The women up, because, in sad reality,

Their chastity in these unhappy climes

Is not a thing of that astringent quality

Which in the North prevents precocious crimes,

And makes our snow less pure than our morality;

The sun, which yearly melts the polar ice,

Has quite the contrary effect on vice.

Thus in the East they are extremely strict,

And Wedlock and a Padlock mean the same;

Excepting only when the former 's pick'd

It ne'er can be replaced in proper frame;

Spoilt, as a pipe of claret is when prick'd:

But then their own Polygamy 's to blame;

Why don't they knead two virtuous souls for life

Into that moral centaur, man and wife?

Thus far our chronicle; and now we pause,

Though not for want of matter; but 't is time

According to the ancient epic laws,

To slacken sail, and anchor with our rhyme.

Let this fift canto meet with due applause,

The sixth shall have a touch of the sublime;

Meanwhile, as Homer sometimes sleeps, perhaps

You 'll pardon to my muse a few short naps.