To embalm with his celestial flattery
As poor a thing as e'er was spawn'd to reign,
What will he do to merit such a doom?
Perhaps he'll love,-and is not love in vain
Torture enough, without a living tomb?

Yet it will be so--he and his compeer,
The Bard of Chivalry, will both consume
In penury and pain too many a year,

And, dying in despondency, bequeath

To the kind world, which scarce will yield a tear,

A heritage enriching all who breathe

With the wealth of a genuine poet's soul, And to their country a redoubled wreath Unmatch'd by time; not Hellas can unroll

Through her Olympiads two such names, though one Of hers be mighty;-and is this the whole Of such men's destiny beneath the sun? (1)

Must all the finer thoughts, the thrilling sense, The electric blood with which their arteries run, Their body's self-tuned soul with the intense

Feeling of that which is, and fancy of

That which should be, to such a recompense Conduct? shall their bright plumage on the rough Storm be still scatter'd? Yes, and it must be, For, form'd of far too penetrable stuff, These birds of paradise but long to flee

Back to their native mansion, soon they find Earth's mist with their pure pinions not agree, And die or are degraded, for the mind

Succumbs to long infection, and despair, And vulture passions flying close behind, Await the moment to assail and tear;

And when at length the winged wanderers stoop, Then is the prey-birds' triumph, then they share The spoil, o'erpower'd at length by one fell swoop. Yet some have been untouch'd who learn'd to bear, Some whom no power could ever force to droop, Who could resist themselves even, hardest care! And task most hopeless; but some such have been, And if my name amongst the number were, That destiny austere, and yet serene,

Were prouder than more dazzling fame unbless'd; The Alp's snow summit nearer heaven is seen Than the volcano's fierce eruptive crest,

Whose splendour from the black abyss is flung, While the scorch'd mountain, from whose burning breast

A temporary torturing flame is wrung,

Shines for a night of terror, then repels

Its fire back to the hell from whence it sprung, The hell which in its entrails ever dwells.

CANTO IV.

MANY are poets who have never penn'd

Their inspiration, and perchance the best:

(1) "Why is it necessary to adopt the invidious and too common practice of weighing the transcendent talents of Ariosto and Tasso in opposite, and as it were contending, scales? Reader! if you have already had the delight of perusing the last production of Lord Byron's muse, how must you have admired those exquisitely beautiful and affecting portraitures of the two matchless poets which conclude the third canto of the Prophecy of Dante! there see them contrasted without such invidious comparison, or depreciation of the one to exalt the other; and characterised in numbers, style, and sentiment, so wonderfully Dantesque, that-mastering our uncongenial language, and

We

They felt, and loved, and died, but would not lend
Their thoughts to meaner beings; they compress'd
The god within them, and rejoin'd the stars
Unlaurell'd upon earth, but far more blest
Than those who are degraded by the jars

Of passion, and their frailties link'd to fame,
Conquerors of high renown, but full of scars.
Many are poets, but without the name;
For what is poesy but to create
From overfeeling good or ill; and aim
At an external life beyond our fate,

And be the new Prometheus of new men,
Bestowing fire from heaven, and then, too late,
Finding the pleasure given repaid with pain,
And vultures to the heart of the bestower,
Who, having lavish'd his high gift in vain,
Lies chain'd to his lone rock by the sea-shore?
So be it: we can bear.-But thus all they
Whose intellect is an o'ermastering power,
Which still recoils from its encumbering clay
Or lightens it to spirit, whatsoe'er
The form which their creations may essay,
Are bards; the kindled marble's bust may wear
More poesy upon its speaking brow
Than aught less than the Homeric page may bear;
One noble stroke with a whole life may glow,
Or deify the canvass till it shine
With beauty so surpassing all below,
That they who kneel to idols so divine

Break no commandment, for high heaven is there
Transfused, transfigurated: and the line

Of poesy, which peoples but the air

With thought and beings of our thought reflected, Can do no more: then let the artist share The palm, he shares the peril, and dejected

Faints o'er the labour unapproved-Alas!
Despair and Genius are too oft connected.
Within the ages which before me pass

Art shall resume and equal even the sway
Which with Apelles and old Phidias
She held in Hellas' unforgotten day.

Ye shall be taught by Ruin to revive
The Grecian forms at least from their decay,
And Roman souls at last again shall live
In Roman works wrought by Italian bands,
And temples, loftier than the old temples, give
New wonders to the world; and while still stands
The austere Pantheon, into heaven shall soar
A dome, (2) its image, while the base expands
Into a fane surpassing all before,

Such as all flesh shall flock to kneel in: ne'er
Such sight hath been unfolded by a door

As this, to which all nations shall repair,
And lay their sins at this huge gate of heaven.
And the bold Architect unto whose care

The daring charge to raise it shall be given,
Whom all arts shall acknowledge as their lord, (3)
Whether into the marble chaos driven

habitual modes of thought as well as expression-they seem to have been inspired by the very genius of the inarrivabile Dante himself." Glenbervie, Ricciardetto, p. 106.-L. E. (2) The cupola of St. Peter's.

(3) If," says Sir Joshua Reynolds, “the high admiration and esteem in which Michael Angelo has been held by all nations, and in all ages, should be put to the account of prejudice, it must still be granted that those prejudices could not have been entertained without a cause: the ground of our prejudice then becomes the source of our admiration. But from whatever it proceeds, or whatever it is called, it will not, I hope, be thought presumptuous in me to appear

His chisel bid the Hebrew, (1) at whose word
Israel left Egypt, stop the waves in stone,
Or hues of hell be by his pencil pour'd
Over the damn'd before the Judgment-throne, (2)
Such as I saw them, such as all shall see,
Or fanes be built of grandeur yet unknown,
The stream of his great thoughts shall spring from
me, (3)

The Ghibelline, who traversed the three realms
Which form the empire of eternity.
Amidst the clash of swords, and clang of helms,

The age which I anticipate, no less
Shall be the Age of Beauty, and while whelms
Calamity the nations with distress,

The genius of my country shall arise,
A cedar towering o'er the wilderness,
Lovely in all its branches to all eyes,

Fragrant as fair, and recognised afar,
Wafting its native incense through the skies.
Sovereigns shall pause amidst their sport of war,
Wean'd for an hour from blood, to turn and
On canvass or on stone; and they who mar
All beauty upon earth, compell'd to praise,

gaze

Shall feel the power of that which they destroy;

in the train, I cannot say of his imitators, but of his admirers. I have taken another course, one more suited to my abilities, and to the taste of the times in which I live. Yet, however unequal I feel myself to that attempt, were I now to begin the world again, I would tread in the steps of that great master. To kiss the hem of his garment, to catch the slightest of his perfections, would be glory and distinction enough for an ambitious man." Sir Joshua Reynolds's Discourses, vol ii., p. 216.-L. E.

(1) The statue of Moses, on the monument of Julius II.

SONETTO

Di Giovanni Battista Zappl.

Chi è costui, che in dura pietra scolto,
Siede gigante; e le più illustri, e conte
Opre dell'arte avvanza, e ha vive, e pronte
Le labbra sì, che le parole ascolto?
Quest' é Mosè: ben me 'I diceva il folto

Onor del mento, e 'l doppio raggio in fronte,
Quest è Mose, quando scendea dal monte,
E gran parte del Nume avea nel volto.
Tal era allor, che le sonanti, e vaste

Acque ei sospese a se d' intorno, e tale
Quando il mar chiuse, e ne fe tomba altrui.
E voi sue turbe un rio vitello alzaste?
Alzata aveste imago a questa eguale!
Ch' era men fallo l' adorar costui.

And who is he that, shaped in sculptured stone,
Sits giant-like? stern monument of art
Unparallel'd, while language seems to start
From his prompt lips, and we his precepts own?
-Tis Moses; by his beard's thick honours known,
And the twin-beams that from his temples dart;
'Tis Moses; seated on the mount apart,
Whilst yet the Godhead o'er his features shone.
Such once he look'd, when ocean's sounding wave
Suspended hung, and such amidst the storm,
When o'er his foes the refluent waters roar'd.
An idol calf his followers did engrave;

But had they raised this awe-commanding form,
Then had they with less guilt their work adored."
Rogers.-L. E.

(2) The Last Judgment, in the Sistine Chapel.-["It is obvious, throughout Michael Angelo's works, that the poetical mind of Dante influenced his feelings. The demons in the Last Judgment, with all their mixed and various passions, may find a prototype in La Divina Commedia. The figures rising from the grave mark his study of L'Inferno e il Purgatorio; and the subject of the Brazen Serpent, in the Sistine Chapel, must remind every reader of canto xxv. dell' Inferno, where the flying serpents, the writhings and contortions of the human body from envenomed wounds, are described with pathos and horror; and the execution of Haman, in the opposite angle of the same ceiling, is doubtless designed from these lines,

Poi piovve dentro all' alta fantasia Un crocifisso dispettoso e fiero

And Art's mistaken gratitude shall raise To tyrants who but take her for a toy Emblems and monuments, and prostitute Her charms to pontiffs proud, (4) who but employ The man of genius as the meanest brute

To bear a burthen, and to serve a need, To sell his labours, and his soul to boot. Who toils for nations may be poor indeed,

But free; who sweats for monarchs is no more Than the gilt chamberlain, who, clothed and fee'd, Stands sleek and slavish, bowing at his door. Oh, Power, that rulest and inspirest! how Is it that they on earth, whose earthly power Is likest thine in heaven in outward show, Least like to thee in attributes divine, Tread on the universal necks that bow, And then assure us that their rights are thine? And how is it that they, the sons of fame, Whose inspiration seems to them to shine From high, they whom the nations oftest name, Must pass their days in penury or pain, Or step to grandeur through the paths of shame, And wear a deeper brand and gaudier chain? Or if their destiny be born aloof

Nella sua vista, e cotal si moria.
Intorno ed esso era 'l grande Assuero

Ester sua sposa, e 'l giusto Mardocheo,

Che fu al dire ed al far cosi 'ntero.'" Duppa-L. E.] (3) I bave read somewhere (if I do not err, for I cannot recollect where,) that Dante was so great a favourite of Michael Angelo's, that he had designed the whole of the Divina Commedia; but that the volume containing these studies was lost by sea." Michael Angelo's copy of Dante," says Duppa, "was a large folio, with Landino's commentary; and upon the broad margin of the leaves he designed, with a pen and ink, all the interesting subjects. This book was possessed by Antonio Montauti, a sculptor and architect of Florence, who, being appointed architect to St. Peter's, removed to Rome, and shipped his effects at Leghorn for Civita Vecchia, among which was this edition of Dante: in the voyage the vessel foundered at sea, and it was unfor tunately lost in the wreck."-L. E.]

(4) See the treatment of Michael Angelo by Julius II., and his neglect by Leo X.-Julius II. was no sooner seated on the papal throne than he was surrounded by men of genius, and Michael Angelo was among the first invited to his court. The Pope had a personal attachment to him, and conversed with him upon every subject, as well as sculpture, with familiarity and friendship; and, that he might visit him frequently, and with perfect convenience, caused a covered bridge to be made from the Vatican palace to his study, to enable him to pass at all times without being observed. On paying his visit one morning, Michael An gelo was rudely interrupted by the person in waiting, who said, "I have an order not to let you enter." Michael felt with indignation this unmerited disgrace, and, in the warmth of resentment, desired him to tell the Pope, "from that time forward, if his Holiness should want him, he should have to seek him in another place." On his return home, he ordered his servants to sell the furniture in his house to the Jews, and to follow him to Florence. Himself. the same evening, took post, and arrived at Poggibonzi castle, in Tuscany, before he rested. The Pope despatched five couriers, with orders to conduct him back: but he was not overtaken until he was in a foreign state." A reconcili ation was, however, a few months after, effected at Bologna, through the mediation of the gonfaloniere. As Michael Angelo entered the presence chamber, the Pope gave him an askance look of displeasure, and after a short pause saluted him, "In the stead of your coming to us, you seem to have expected that we should wait upon you." Michael Angelo replied, with submission, that his error arose from too hastily feeling a disgrace that he was unconscious of meriting, and hoped his Holiness would pardon what was past. The Pope thereupon gave him his benediction, and restored him to his friendship. The whole reign of Leo X. was a blank in the life of Michael Angelo. Duppa.-L. F.]

From lowliness, or tempted thence in vain, In their own souls sustain a harder proof,

The inner war of passions deep and fierce? Florence! when thy harsh sentence razed my roof, I loved thee; but the vengeance of my verse, The hate of injuries which every year Makes greater, and accumulates my curse, Shall live, outliving all thou holdest dear,

Thy pride, thy wealth, thy freedom, and even that,
The most infernal of all evils here,
The sway of petty tyrants in a state;

For such sway is not limited to kings,
And demagogues yield to them but in date,
As swept off sooner; in all deadly things

Which make men hate themselves, and one another,
In discord, cowardice, cruelty, all that springs
From Death the Sin-born's incest with his mother,
In rank oppression in its rudest shape,
The faction chief is but the sultan's brother,
And the worst despot's far less human ape:
Florence! when this lone spirit, which so long
Yearn'd, as the captive toiling at escape,
To fly back to thee in despite of wrong,
An exile, saddest of all prisoners, (1)

(1) In his Convito, Dante speaks of his banishment, and the poverty and distress which attended it, in very affecting terms:-"Alas!" said he, "had it pleased the Dispenser of the Universe that the occasion of this excuse had never existed; that neither others had committed wrong against me, nor 1 suffered unjustly; suffered, I say, the punishment of exile and of poverty; since it was the pleasure of the citizens of that fairest and most renowned daughter of Rome, Florence, to cast me forth out of her sweet bosom, in which I had my birth and nourishment, even to the ripeness of my age, and in which, with her good-will, I desire, with all my heart, to rest this wearied spirit of mine, and to terminate the time allotted to me on earth. Wandering over almost every part, to which this our lan guage extends, I have gone about like a mendicant, showing against my will the wound with which fortune has smitten me, and which is often imputed to his ill-deserving on whom it is inflicted. I have, indeed, been a vessel without sail and without steerage, carried about to divers ports, and roads, and shores, by the dry wind that springs out of sad poverty, and have appeared before the eyes of many who, perhaps, from some report that had reached them, had imagined me of a different form; in whose sight not only my person was disparaged, but every action of mine became of less value, as well those already performed, as those which yet remained for me to attempt."-L. E.

(2) About the year 1316, the friends of Dante succeeded in obtaining his restoration to his country and his posses sions, on condition that he should pay a certain sum of money, and, entering a church, there avow himself guilty, and ask pardon of the republic. The following was his answer, on this occasion, to one of his kinsmen:-"From your letter, which I received with due respect and affection, I observe how much you have at heart my restoration to my country. I am bound to you the more gratefully, that an exile rarely finds a friend. But, after mature consideration, I must, by my answer, disappoint the wishes of some little minds; and I confide in the judgment to which your impartiality and prudence will lead you. Your nephew and mine has written to me, what indeed had been mentioned by many other friends, that, by a decree concerning the exiles, I am allowed to return to Florence, provided I pay a certain sum of money, and submit to the humiliation of asking and receiving absolution: wherein, my father, I see two propositions that are ridiculous and impertinent. I speak of the impertinence of those who mention such conditions to me: for in your letter, dictated by judgment and discretion, there is no such thing. Is such an invitation to return to his country glorious for Dante, after suffering in exile almost fifteen years? Is it thus, then, they would recompense innocence which all the world knows, and the labour and fatigue of unremitting study? Far from the man who is familiar with philosophy be the senseless baseness of

Who has the whole world for a dungeon strong, Seas, mountains, and the horizon's verge for bars, Which shut him from the sole small spot of earth Where-whatsoe'er his fate-he still were hers, His country's, and might die where he had birthFlorence! when this lone spirit shall return To kindred spirits, thou wilt feel my worth, And seek to honour with an empty urn

The ashes thou shalt ne'er obtain (2)—-Alas!
"What have I done to thee, my people?" (3) Stern
Are all thy dealings, but in this they pass
The limits of man's common malice, for
All that a citizen could be I was;

Raised by thy will, all thine in peace or war,
And for this thou hast warr'd with me.-'Tis done:
I may not overleap the eternal bar
Built up between us, and will die alone,

Beholding with the dark eye of a seer
The evil days to gifted souls foreshown,
Foretelling them to those who will not hear,
As in the old time, till the hour be come
When Truth shall strike their eyes through many

a tear,

And make them own the Prophet in his tomb. (4)

a heart of earth, that could do like a little sciolist, and imitate the infamy of some others, by offering himself up as it were in chains. Far from the man who cries aloud for justice this compromise, by his money, with his persecutors! No, my father, this is not the way that shall lead me back to my country. But I shall return with hasty steps, if you or any other can open to me a way that shall not derogate from the fame and honour of Dante; but if by no such way Florence can be entered, then Florence I shall never enter. What shall I not every where enjoy the sight of the sun and stars? and may I not seek and contemplate, in every corner of the earth under the canopy of heaven, consoling and delightful truth, without first rendering myself inglorious, nay infamous, to the people and republic of Florence? Bread, I hope, will not fail me." Yet he continued to experience

"How salt the savour is of others' bread,
How hard the passage to descend and climb
By others' stairs!"

His countrymen persecuted even his memory: he was excommunicated after death by the Pope.-L. E.

(3) E scrisse più volte non solamente a particolari cittadini del reggimento, ma ancora al popolo, e intra l'altre una epistola assai lunga che comincia: Popule mi, quid feci tibi?'"-Vita di Dante, scritta da Lionardo Aretino.

(4) Dante died at Ravenna in 1321, in the palace of his patron, Guido Novello da Polenta, who testified his sorrow and respect by the sumptuousness of his obsequies, and by giving orders to erect a monument, which he did not live to complete. His countrymen showed, too late, that they knew the value of what they had lost. At the beginning of the next century, they entreated that the mortal remains of their illustrious citizen might be restored to them, and deposited among the tombs of their fathers. But the people of Ravenna were unwilling to part with the sad and honourable memorial of their own hospitality. No better success attended the subsequent negotiations of the Florentines for the same purpose, though renewed under the auspices of Leo X., and conducted through the powerful mediation of Michael Angelo.

Never did any poem rise so suddenly into notice, after the death of its author, as the Divina Commedia. About the year 1350, Giovanni Visconti, Archbishop of Milan, selected six of the most learned men in Italy.-two divines, two philosophers, and two Florentines,-and gave them in charge to contribute their joint endeavours towards the compilation of an ample comment, a copy of which is preserved in the Laurentian library. At Florence, a public lecture was founded for the purpose of explaining a poem, which was at the same time the boast and the disgrace of the city. The decree for this institution was passed in 1373; and in that year Boccaccio was appointed, with a salary of a hundred florins, to deliver lectures in one of the churches

ECLOGUE FIRST.

London-Before the Door of a Lecture Room.

Enter TRACY, meeting INKEL.

Ink. You're too late.

Is it over?

Tra. Ink. Nor will be this hour. But the benches are cramm'd, like a garden in flower, With the pride of our belles, who have made it the fashion; [passion" So, instead of "beaux arts," we may say "la belle For learning, which lately has taken the lead in The world, and set all the fine gentlemen reading.

Tra. I know it too well, and have worn out my patience

With studying to study your new publications. There's Vamp, Scamp, and Mouthy, and Wordswords and Co. (2)

With their damnable-
Ink.
Hold, my good friend, do you know
Whom you speak to?
Tra. Right well, boy, and so does "the Row:"(3)
You're an author-a poet-

on the first of their poets. The example of Florence was speedily followed by Bologna, Pisa, Piacenza, and Venice. It is only within a few years, that the merits of this great and original poet were attended to and made known in this country. And this seems to be owing to a translation of the very pathetic story of Count Ugolino; to the judicious and spirited summary given of this poem in the 31st section of the History of English Poetry; and to Mr. Hayley's translations of the three cantos of the Inferno. "Dante believed," says Ugo Foscolo, "that, by his sufferings on earth, he atoned for the errors of humanity

Ma la bontà divina ha si gran braccia,
Che prende cio che si rivolge a lei.'

So wide arms

Hath goodness infinite, that it receives
All who turn to it.'—

And he seems to address Heaven in the attitude of a worshipper, rather than a suppliant Being convinced that Man is then truly happy when he freely exercises all his energies,' he walked through the world with an assured step, 'keeping his vigils'

So that nor night nor slumber with close stealth
Conveyed from him a single step in all
The goings on of time.'

Ile collected the opinions, the follies, the vicissitudes, the miseries, and the passions that agitate mankind; and left behind him a monument which, while it humbles us by the representation of our own wretchedness, should make us glory that we partake of the same nature with such a man, and encourage us to make the best use of our fleeting existence."-L. E.

(1) This trifle, which Lord Byron has himself designated as a mere buffoonery, never meant for publication," was written in 1820, and first appeared in The Liberal. The personal allusions in which it abounds are, for the most

pretence

To their favours is such--But, the subject to drop,
I am just piping hot from a publisher's shop
(Next door to the pastry-cook's; so that when I
Cannot find the new volume I wanted to buy
On the bibliopole's shelves, it is only two paces,
As one finds every author in one of those places);
Where I just had been skimming a charming critique,
So studded with wit, and so sprinkled with Greek!
Where your friend-you know who-has just got
such a threshing,

That it is, as the phrase goes, extremely “refreshing.”
What a beautiful word!(4)

Ink. Very true; 'tis so soft And so cooling-they use it a little too oft; And the papers have got it at last-but no matter. So they've cut up our friend then? Tra. Not left him a tatterNot a rag of his present or past reputation,

part, sufficiently intelligible; and, with a few exceptions, so good-humoured, that the parties concerned may be ex pected to join in the laugh.

"About the year 1781, it was much the fashion for several ladies to have evening assemblies, where the fair sex might participate in conversation with literary and ̧ingenious men, animated by a desire to please. These societies were denominated Blue-stocking Clubs; the origin of which title being little known, it may be worth while to relate it. One of the most eminent members of those societies, when they first commenced, was Mr. Stillingfleet, whose dress was remarkably grave, and in particular it was observed that he wore blue stockings. Such was the excellence of his conversation, and his absence was felt as so great a loss, that it used to be said, We can do nothing without the blue-stockings;' and thus by degrees the title was established." Croker's Boswell. vol. iv. p. 489. Sir William Forbes, in his life of Dr. Beattie, says, that “a, foreigner of distinction hearing the expression, translated it literally Bas Bleu,' by which these meetings came to be distinguished. Miss Hannah More, who was herself & member, has written a poem with the title of Bas Bleu, in allusion to this mistake of the foreigner, in which she has characterised most of the eminent personages of which it was composed."-L. E.

(2) See the stanzas on Messrs. Wordsworth and Southey in Don Juan.-L. E.

(3) Paternoster-row-long and still celebrated as a very bazaar of booksellers. Sir Walter Scott "hitches into rhyme" one of the most important firms-that

"Of Longman, Hurst, Rees, Orme, and Brown,
Our fathers of the Row."-L. E.

(4) This cant phrase was first used in the Edinburgh Review-probably by Mr. Jeffrey.-L. E.

Which they call a disgrace to the age and the nation. Ink. I'm sorry to hear this! for friendship, you

know

Our poor friend!—but I thought it would terminate so. Our friendship is such, I'll read nothing to shock it. You don't happen to have the Review in your pocket?

Tra. No; I left a round dozen of authors and others (Very sorry, no doubt, since the cause is a brother's) All scrambling and jostling, like so many imps, And on fire with impatience to get the next glimpse. Ink. Let us join them.

Tra. What! won't you return to the lecture?
Ink. Why, the place is so cramm'd, there's not
room for a spectre.

Besides, our friend Scamp is to-day so absurd—
Tra. How can you know that till your hear him?
I heard
Ink.
Quite enough; and, to tell you the truth, my retreat
Was from his vile nonsense, no less than the heat.
Tra. I have had no great loss then?
Loss!--such a palaver!
Ink.
I'd inoculate sooner my wife with the slaver
Of a dog when gone rabid, than listen two hours
To the torrent of trash which around him he pours,
Pump'd up with such effort, disgorged with such la-
bour,

Tra.

Is that your deduction?

Ink.

But we two will be wise.

Ink.

Pray, then, let us retire.

Tra. A fair lady

I own it-'tis true

Ink.

A spinster?

Tra.

Miss Lilac!

Ink.

Tra. You forget Lady Lilac 's as rich as a Jew.
Ink. Is it miss or the cash of mamma you pursue?
Tra. Why, Jack, I'll be frank with you-something
of both.
The girl's a fine girl.

Ink.
And you feel nothing loth
To her good lady-mother's reversion; and yet
Her life is as good as your own, I will bet.

Tra. Let her live, and as long as she likes; I de[hand. mand Nothing more than the heart of her daughter and Ink. Why, that heart's in the inkstand-that hand on the pen.

Tra. Apropos-Will you write me a song now and
Ink. To what purpose?

I know what is what: And you, who're a man of the gay world, no less Than a poet of 'tother, may easily guess That I never could mean, by a word, to offend A genius like you, and moreover my friend.

Ink. No doubt; you by this time should know what is due

You knew, To a man of—But come-let us shake hands. Tra.

But-oh! ye lords of ladies intellectual,
Inform us truly, have they not hen-peck'd you all?"
Don Juan, Canto I.