DON JUAN. CANTO III. I. HAIL, Muse! et cetera.-We left Juan sleeping, And watch'd by eyes that never yet knew weeping, II. Oh, Love! what is it in this world of ours Which makes it fatal to be loved? Ah why With cypress branches hast thou wreathed thy bowers, And made thy best interpreter a sigh? As those who dote on odours pluck the flowers, And place them on their breast—but place to die— Thus the frail beings we would fondly cherish Are laid within our bosoms but to perish. III. In her first passion woman loves her lover, As you may find, whene'er you like to prove her: One man alone at first her heart can move; She then prefers him in the plural number, Not finding that the additions much encumber. IV. I know not if the fault be men's or theirs; But one thing's pretty sure; a woman planted(Unless at once she plunge for life in prayers)— After a decent time must be gallanted; Although, no doubt, her first of love affairs Is that to which her heart is wholly granted; Yet there are some, they say, who have had none, But those who have ne'er end with only one. V. 'Tis melancholy, and a fearful sign Of human frailty, folly, also crime, That love and marriage rarely can combine, VI. There's something of antipathy, as 'twere, A kind of flattery that's hardly fair Is used until the truth arrives too late Yet what can people do, except despair? The same things change their names at such a rate; For instance-passion in a lover's glorious, But in a husband is pronounced uxorious. VII. Men grow ashamed of being so very fond; But that, of course, is rare), and then despond: That both are tied till one shall have expired. |