LVIII.

This heathenish cross restored the breed again, Ruin'd its blood, but much improv'd its flesh; For, from a root the ugliest in Old Spain

Sprung up a branch as beautiful as fresh;

The sons no more were short, the daughters plain : But there's a rumour which I fain would hush, "Tis said that Donna Julia's grandmamma

Produced her Don more heirs at love than law.

LIX.

However this might be, the race went on
Improving still through every generation;
Until it center'd in an only son,

Who left an only daughter; my narration
May have suggested that this single one

Could be but Julia, (whom on this occasion I shall have much to speak about), and she Was married, charming, chaste, and twenty-three.

LX.

Her eye (I'm very fond of handsome eyes)
Was large and dark, suppressing half its fire
Until she spoke, then through its soft disguise
Flash'd an expression more of pride than ire,
And love than either; and there would arise
A something in them which was not desire,
But would have been, perhaps, but for the soul
Which struggled through and chasten'd dowu the

whole.

LXI.

Her glossy hair was cluster'd o'er a brow
Bright with intelligence, and fair and smooth;
Her eyebrow's shape was like the aerial bow,
Her cheek all purple with the beam of youth,
Mounting, at times, to a transparent glow,

As if her veins ran lightning; she, in sooth, Possess'd an air and grace by no means common: Her stature tall I hate a dumpy woman.

LXII.

Wedded she was some years, and to a man
Of fifty, and such husbands are in plenty;
And yet, I think, instead of such a ONE

"Twere better to have two of five and twenty, Especially in countries near the sun:

And now I think on't,,,mi vien in mente,"
Ladies even of the most uneasy virtue
Prefer a spouse whose age is short of thirty.

LXIII.

"Tis a sad thing, I cannot choose but say,
And all the fault of that indecent sun,
Who cannot leave alone our helpless clay,
But will keep baking, broiling, burning on,
That howsoever people fast and pray

The flesh is frail, and so the soul undone:
What men call gallantry, and gods adultery,
Is much more common where the climate's sultry.

LXIV.

Happy the nations of the moral north!
Where all is virtue, and the winter season
Sends sin, without a rag on, shivering forth;
("Twas snow that brought St. Anthony to reason);
Where juries cast up what a wife is worth

By laying whate'er sum, in mulct, they please on The lover, who must pay a handsome price, Because it is a marketable vice.

LXV.

Alfonso was the name of Julia's lord,

A man well looking for his years, and who
Was neither much beloved, nor yet abhorr'd;
They lived together as most people do,
Suffering each other's foibles by accord,
And not exactly either one or two;

Yet he was jealous, though he did not show it,

For jealousy dislikes the world to know it.

LXVI.

Julia wast yet I never could see why
With Donna Inez quite a favourite friend;
Between their tastes there was small sympathy,
For not a line had Julia ever penn'd:

Some people whisper (but, no doubt, they lie,
For malice still imputes some private end)
That Inez had, ere Don Alfonso's marriage,
Forgot with him her very prudent carriage;

LXVII.

And that still keeping up the old connexion, Which time had lately render'd much more

She took his lady also in affection,

chaste,

And certainly this course was much the best: She flatter'd Julia with her sage protection,

And complimented Don Alfonso's taste;

And if she could not (who can ?) silence scandal, At least she left it a more slender handle.