VIII. In Seville was he born, a pleasant city, Famous for oranges and women — - he Who has not seen it will be much to pity, says the proverb and I quite agree; So Of all the Spanish towns is none more pretty, Cadiz perhaps but that you soon may see:Don Juan's parents lived beside the river, A noble stream, and call'd the Guadalquivir. IX. His father's name was Jóse Don, of course, A true Hidalgo, free from overy stain Of Moor or Hebrew blood, he traced his source Through the most Gothic gentlemen of Spain; A better cavalier ne'er mounted horse, Or, being mounted, e'er got down again, Than Jóse, who begot our hero, who Begot but that's to come- Well, to renew: X. His mother was a learned lady, famed For every branch of every science known a In every christian language ever named, With virtues equall'd by her wit alone, She made the cleverest people quite ashamed, And even the good with inward envy groan, Finding themselves so very much exceeded In their own way by all the things that she did. XI. Her memory was a mine: she knew by heart So that if any actor miss'd his part She could have serv'd him for the prompter's copy; For her Feinagle's were an useless art, And he himself obliged to shut up shop he Could never make a memory so fine as That which adorn'd the brain of Donna Inez. XII. Her favourite science was the mathematical, XIII. She knew the Latin—that is,,,the Lord's prayer," And Greek the alphabet the alphabet I'm nearly sure; She read some French romances here and there,* Although her mode of speaking was not pure; For native Spanish she had no great care, At least her conversation was obscure; Her thoughts were theorems, her words a problem; As if she deem'd that mystery would ennoble 'em. XIV. She liked the English and the Hebrew tongue, But I must leave the proofs to those who've seen 'em, But this I heard her say, and can't be wrong, And all my think which way their judgments lean 'em, ,"Tis strange the Hebrew noun which means I am," ,,The English always use to govern d - n." XV. * * XVI. In short, she was a walking calculation; Miss Edgeworth's novels stepping from their covers, Or Mrs. Trimmer's books on education, Or,,Coelebs' Wife" set out in quest of lovers, Morality's prim personification, In which not Envy's self a flaw discovers, XVII. Oh! she was perfect past all parallel Of any modern female saint's comparison; / So far above the cunning powers of hell, Her guardian angel had given up his garrison; Even her minutest motions went as well As those of the best time-piece made by Harrison: In virtues nothing earthly could surpass her, Save thine,,Incomparable oil," Macassar! 2 |