And that 's the moral of this composition, If people would but see its real drift;-But that they will not do without suspicion, Because all gentle readers have the gift Of closing 'gainst the light their orbs of vision;
While gentle writers also love to lift Their voices 'gainst each other, which is natural, The numbers are too great for them to flatter all.
Rose the sultana from a bed of splendour, Softer than the soft Sybarite's, who cried Aloud because his feelings were too tender To brook a ruffled rose-leaf by his side,-So beautiful that art could little mend her, Though pale with conflicts between love and pride;-So agitated was she with her error, She did not even look into the mirror.
Also arose about the self-same time, Perhaps a little later, her great lord, Master of thirty kingdoms so sublime, And of a wife by whom he was abhorr'd;
A thing of much less import in that clime-At least to those of incomes which afford The filling up their whole connubial cargo-Than where two wives are under an embargo.
He did not think much on the matter, nor Indeed on any other: as a man He liked to have a handsome paramour At hand, as one may like to have a fan, And therefore of Circassians had good store, As an amusement after the Divan;
Though an unusual fit of love, or duty, Had made him lately bask in his bride's beauty.
And now he rose; and after due ablutions Exacted by the customs of the East, And prayers and other pious evolutions, He drank six cups of coffee at the least, And then withdrew to hear about the Russians, Whose victories had recently increased In Catherine's reign, whom glory still adores, But oh, thou grand legitimate Alexander!
Her son's son, let not this last phrase offend Thine ear, if it should reach- and now rhymes wander Almost as far as Petersburgh and lend A dreadful impulse to each loud meander Of murmuring Liberty's wide waves, which blend Their roar even with the Baltic's- so you be Your father's son, 't is quite enough for me.
To call men love-begotten or proclaim Their mothers as the antipodes of Timon, That hater of mankind, would be a shame, A libel, or whate'er you please to rhyme on:
But people's ancestors are history's game;
And if one lady's slip could leave a crime on All generations, I should like to know What pedigree the best would have to show?
Had Catherine and the sultan understood Their own true interests, which kings rarely know Until 't is taught by lessons rather rude, There was a way to end their strife, although Perhaps precarious, had they but thought good, Without the aid of prince or plenipo:
She to dismiss her guards and he his haram, And for their other matters, meet and share 'em.
But as it was, his Highness had to hold His daily council upon ways and means How to encounter with this martial scold, This modern Amazon and queen of queans;
And the perplexity could not be told Of all the pillars of the state, which leans Sometimes a little heavy on the backs Of those who cannot lay on a new tax.
Meantime Gulbeyaz, when her king was gone, Retired into her boudoir, a sweet place For love or breakfast; private, pleasing, lone, And rich with all contrivances which grace Those gay recesses:- many a precious stone Sparkled along its roof, and many a vase Of porcelain held in the fetter'd flowers, Those captive soothers of a captive's hours.
Mother of pearl, and porphyry, and marble, Vied with each other on this costly spot;
And singing birds without were heard to warble;
And the stain'd glass which lighted this fair grot Varied each ray;- but all descriptions garble The true effect, and so we had better not Be too minute; an outline is the best,-A lively reader's fancy does the rest.
And here she summon'd Baba, and required Don Juan at his hands, and information Of what had pass'd since all the slaves retired, And whether he had occupied their station;
If matters had been managed as desired, And his disguise with due consideration Kept up; and above all, the where and how He had pass'd the night, was what she wish'd to know.
Baba, with some embarrassment, replied To this long catechism of questions, ask'd More easily than answer'd,- that he had tried His best to obey in what he had been task'd;
But there seem'd something that he wish'd to hide, Which hesitation more betray'd than mask'd;
He scratch'd his ear, the infallible resource To which embarrass'd people have recourse.
Gulbeyaz was no model of true patience, Nor much disposed to wait in word or deed;
She liked quick answers in all conversations;
And when she saw him stumbling like a steed In his replies, she puzzled him for fresh ones;
And as his speech grew still more broken-kneed, Her cheek began to flush, her eyes to sparkle, And her proud brow's blue veins to swell and darkle.
When Baba saw these symptoms, which he knew To bode him no great good, he deprecated Her anger, and beseech'd she 'd hear him through-He could not help the thing which he related:
Then out it came at length, that to Dudu Juan was given in charge, as hath been stated;
But not by Baba's fault, he said, and swore on The holy camel's hump, besides the Koran.
The chief dame of the Oda, upon whom The discipline of the whole haram bore, As soon as they re-enter'd their own room, For Baba's function stopt short at the door, Had settled all; nor could he then presume (The aforesaid Baba) just then to do more, Without exciting such suspicion as Might make the matter still worse than it was.
