CLXXVIII. A hint, in tender cases, is enough; Silence is best, besides there is a tact (That modern phrase appears to me sad stuff, But it will serve to keep my verse compact) Which keeps, when push'd by questions rather rough, A lady always distant from the fact The charming creatures lie with such a grace, CLXXIX. They blush, and we believe them; at least I In any case, attempting a reply, For then their eloquence grows quite profuse; And when at length they're out of breath, they sigh, And cast their languid eyes down, and let loose A tear or two, and then we make it up; And then- and then - and then - sit down and sup. CLXXX. Alfonso closed his speech, and begg'd her pardon, CLXXXI. A pair of shoes!-what then? not much, if they CLXXXII. He left the room for his relinquish'd sword, And Julia instant to the closet flew. ,,Fly, Juan, fly! for heaven's sake not a word. ,,The door is open-you may yet slip through ,,The passage you so soften have explored,,Here is the garden-key-Fly-fly-Adieu! ,,Haste haste!-I hear Alfonso's hurrying feet,,Day has not broke there's no one in the street." CLXXXIII. None can say that this was not good advice, Of all experience 'tis the usual price, A sort of income-tax laid on by fate: Juan had reach'd the room-door in a trice, And might have done so by the garden-gate, But met Alfonso in his dressing-gown, Who threaten'd death- so Juan knock'd him down. CLXXXIV. Dire was the scuffle, and out went the light, CLXXXV. Alfonso's sword had dropp'd ere he could draw it, His temper not being under great command, Alfonso's days had not been in the land Much longer-Think of husbands', lovers' lives! CLXXXVI. Alfonso grappled to detain the foe, And Juan throttled him to get away, And blood ('twas from the nose) began to flow; And then his only garment quite gave way; CLXXXVII. Lights came at length, and men, and maids, who found An awkward spectacle their eyes before; Antonia in hysterics, Julia swoon'd, Alfonso leaning, breathless, by the door; Some half-torn drapery scatter'd on the ground, Some blood, and several footsteps, but no more: Juan the gate gain'd, turn'd the key about, And liking not the inside, lock'd the out. |