ABSTRACT
* * * XXI. But to my story.—’Twas some years ago, It may be thirty, forty, more or less, The carnival was at its height, and so Were all kinds of buffoonery and dress; A certain lady went to see the show, Her real name I know not, nor can guess, And so we’ll call her Laura, if you please, Because it slips into my verse with ease. XXII. She was not old, nor young, nor at the years Which certain people call a ‘certain age’, Which yet the most uncertain age appears, Because I never heard, nor could engage A person yet by prayers, or bribes, or tears, To name, define by speech, or write on page, 167The period meant precisely by that word,— Which surely is exceedingly absurd. XXIII. Laura was blooming still, had made the best Of time, and time returned the compliment, And treated her genteelly, so that, drest, She looked extremely well where’er she went: A pretty woman is a welcome guest, And Laura’s brow a frown had rarely bent; Indeed she shone all smiles, and seemed to flatter Mankind with her black eyes for looking at her. XXIV. She was a married woman; ’tis convenient, Because in Christian countries ’tis a rule To view their little slips with eyes more lenient; Whereas, if single ladies play the fool, (Unless within the period intervenient, A well-timed wedding makes the scandal cool) I don’t know how they ever can get over it, Except they manage never to discover it. XXV. Her husband sailed upon the Adriatic, And made some voyages, too, in other seas, And when he lay in quarantine for pratique, 1 (A forty days’ precaution ’gainst disease) His wife would mount, at times, her highest attic, For thence she could discern the ship with ease: He was a merchant trading to Aleppo, 2 His name Giuseppe, called more briefly, Beppo.
