XXXVI.

Besides, within the Alps, to every woman
(Although, God knows, it is a grievous sin,)
"Tis, I may say, permitted to have two men;
I can't tell who first brought the custom in,
But,,Cavalier Serventes" are quite common,
And no one notices, nor cares a pin;

And we may call this (not to say the worst)
A second marriage which corrupts the first.

XXXVII.

The word was formerly a,,Cicisbeo,"

But that is now grown vulgar and indecent; The Spaniards call the person a,,Cortejo,"3 For the same mode subsists in Spain, though recent;

In short it reaches from the Po to Teio,

And may perhaps at last be o'er the sea sent. But Heaven preserve Old England from such cour

ses!

Or what becomes of damage and divorces?

XXXVIII.

However, I still think, with all due deference
To the fair single part of the Creation,
That married ladies should preserve the preference
In tête-à-tête or general conversation—
And this I say without peculiar reference
To England, France, or any other nation-
Because they know the world, and are at ease,
And being natural, naturally please.

XXXIX.

Tis true, your budding Miss is very charming,
But shy and awkward at first coming out,
So much alarm'd that she is quite alarming,

All Giggle, Blush; -half Pertness, and half Pout; And glancing at Mamma, for fear there's harm in What you, she, it, or they, may be about, The Nursery still lisps out in all they utterBesides, they always smell of bread and butter.

XL.

But,,Cavalier Servente" is the phrase
Used in politest circles to express
This supernumerary slave, who stays
Close to the lady as a part of dress,
Her word the only law which he obeys.
His is no sinecure, as you may guess;
Coach, servants, gondola, he goes to call,
And carries fan, and tippet, gloves, and shawl.

XLI.

With all its sinful doings, I must say
That Italy's a pleasant place to me,

Who love to see the Sun shine every day,

And vines (not nail'd to walls) from tree to tree Festoon'd, much like the back scene of a play,

Or melodrame, which people flock to see, When the first act is ended by a dance

In vineyards copied from the south of France.

XLII.

I like on Autumn evenings to ride out,
Without being forced to bid my groom be sure
My cloak is round his middle strapp'd about,
Because the skies are not the most secure;
I know too that, if stopp'd upon my route,

Where the green alleys windingly allure, Reeling with grapes red waggons choke the way,In England 'twould be dung, dust, or a dray.

To see the Sun set, sure he'll rise to-morrow, Not through a misty morning twinkling weak as A drunken man's dead eye in maudlin sorrow, But with all Heaven t'himself; that day will break as Beauteous as cloudless, nor be forced to borrow That sort of farthing candlelight which glimmers Where reeking London's smoky cauldron simmers,

DI

LE

XLIV.

I love the language, that soft bastard Latin, Which melts like kisses from a female mouth, And sounds as if it should be writ on satin, With syllables which breathe of the sweet South, And gentle liquids gliding all sa pat in,

That not a single accent seems uncouth, Like our harsh northern whistling, grunting guttu

ral,

Which we're obliged to hiss, and spit, and sput

XLV.

ter all.

I like the women too (forgive my folly),
From the rich peasant-cheek of ruddy bronze,
And large black eyes that flash on you a volley
Of rays that say a thousand things at once,
To the high dama's brow, more melancholy,
But clear, and with a wild and liquid glance,
Heart on her lips, and soul within her eyes,
Soft as her clime, and sunny as her skies.