427 A blundering novice in his new French grammar. Good cause had he to doubt the chance of war; And as for Fortune-but I dare not d―n her, Because, were I to ponder to infinity, The more I should believe in her divinity. LXII. She rules the present, past, and all to be yet; Meantime the goddess I'll no more importune LXIII. To turn-and to return: the devil take it, It needs must be-and so it rather lingers. LXIV. They went to the Ridotto ('tis a place LXV. Now Laura moves along the joyous crowd, To some she curtsies, and to some she dips; LXVI. One has false curls, another too much paint; A third-where did she buy that frightful turban? A fourth's so pale, she fears she's going to faint; A fifth looks vulgar, dowdyish, and suburban; A sixth's white silk has got a yellow taint; A seventh's thin muslin surely will be her bane; And lo! an eighth appears-I'll see no more! For fear, like Banquo's kings, they reach a score. LXVII. Meantime, while she was thus at others gazing, She heard the men's half-whisper'd mode of prais ing, And, till 'twas done, determined not to stir; 429 "Sir," said the Count, with brow exceeding grave, "Your unexpected presence here will make It necessary for myself to crave Its import? But perhaps 'tis a mistake: All compliment, I hope so for your sake: LXXXIX. "That lady is my wife!" Much wonder paints They only call a little on their saints, And then come to themselves, almost or quite; Which saves much hartshorn, salts, and sprinkling faces, And cutting stays, as usual in such cases. XC. She said-what could she say? Why, not a word: XCI. They enter'd, and for coffee call'd: it came, XCII. "And are you really, truly, now a Turk? wive ? you With any other woman did Is't true they use their fingers for a fork? Well, that's the prettiest shawl-as I'm alive! You'll give it me? They say you eat no pork. And how so many years did you contrive To-Bless me! Did I ever! No, I never Saw a man grown so yellow! How's your XCIII. liver? ; Beppo, that beard of yours becomes you not It shall be shaved before you're a day older: Why do you wear it? Oh! I had forgotPray, don't you think the weather here is colder ? ADVERTISEMENT. Mazeppa. "CELUI qui remplissait alors cette place était un gentilhomine Polonais, nommé Mazeppa, né dans le palatinat de Podolie: il avait été élevé page de Jean Casimir, et avait pris à sa cour quelque teinture des belles-lettres. Une intrigue qu'il eut dans sa jeunesse avec la femme d'un gentilhomme Polonais ayant été découverte, le mari le fit lier tout nu sur un cheval farouche, et le laissa aller en cet état. Le cheval, qui était du pays de l'Ukraine, y retourna, et y porta Mazeppa, demi-mort de fatigue et de faim. Quelques paysans le secoururent il resta longtems parmi eux, et se signala dans plusieurs courses contre les Tartares. La superiorité de ses lumières lui donna une grande consideration parmi les Cosaques: sa réputation s'augmentant de jour en jour obligea le Czar à le faire Prince de l'Ukraine."-VOLTAIRE, Hist. de Charles XII., p. 196. : "Le roi fuyant, et poursuivi, eut son cheval tué sous lui; le Colonel Gieta, blessé, et perdant tout son sang, lui donna le sien. Ainsi on remit deux fois à cheval, dans sa fuite, ce conquérant qui n'avait pu y monter pendant la bataille."-Ibid., p. 216. "Le roi alla par un autre chemin avec quelques cavaliers. Le carrosse, où il était, rompit dans la marche; on le remit à cheval. Pour comble de disgrace, il s'égara pendant la nuit dans un bois ; là, son courage ne pouvant plus suppléer à ses forces épuisées, les douleurs de sa blessure devenues plus insupportables par la fatigue, son cheval étant tombé de lassitude, il se coucha quelques heures au pied d'un arbre, en danger d'être surpris à tout moment par les vainqueurs, qui le cherchaient de tous côtés.”—Ibid. p. 218. L "TWAS after dread Pultowa's day, |