equally mindful of the deference to be paid to this House. The petitioner states, amongst other matter of equal, if not greater importance, to all who are British in their feelings, as well as blood and birth, that on the 21st January, 1813, at Huddersfield, bimself and six other persons, who, on hearing of his arrival, had waited on him merely as a testimony of respect, were seized by a military and civil force, and kept in close custody for several hours, subjected to gross and abusive insinuation from the commanding officer, relative to the character of the petitioner; that he (the

I have to apologise to the House, who will, I trust, pardon one, not often in the habit of intruding upon their indulgence, for so long attempting to engage their attention. My most decided opinion is, as my vote will be, in favour of the motion.

not released till an examination of his papers proved that there was not only no just, but not even statutable charge against him; and that, notwithstanding the promise and order from the presiding magistrates of a copy of the warrant against your petitioner, it was afterwards withheld on divers pretexts, and has never until this hour been granted. The names and condition of the parties will be found in the petition. To the other topics touched upon in the petition, I shall not now advert, from a wish not to encroach upon the time of the House; but I do most sincerely call the at

JUNE 1, 1813.

LORD BYRON rose and said:

MY LORDS, the Petition which I now hold for the purpose of presenting to the House, is one which I humbly conceive requires the particular attention of your lordships, inasmuch as, though signed but by a single individual, it contains statements which (if not disproved) demand most serious investigation. The grievance of which the petitioner complains, is neither selfish nor imaginary. It is not his own only, for it has been, and is still felt by numbers. No one without these walls, nor indeed within, but may to-morrow be made liable to the same insult and obstruction, in the discharge of an imperious duty for the restoration of the true constitution of these realms by petitioning for reform in parliament. The petitioner, my Lords, is a man whose long life has been spent in one unceasing struggle for the liberty of the subject, against that undue influence which has increased, is increasing, and ought to be diminished; and whatever difference of opinion may exist as to his political tenets, few will be fouud to question the integrity of his intentions. Even now oppressed with years, and not exempt from the infirmities attendant on his age, but still unimpaired in talent, and unshaken in spirit—« frangas non flectes»— he has received many a wound in the combat against corruption; and the new grievance, the fresh insult of which he complains, may inflict another scar, but no dishonour. The petition is signed by John Cartwright, and it was in behalf of the people and parliament, in the lawful pursuit of that reform in the representation which is the best service to be rendered both to parliament and people, that he encountered the wanton outrage which forms the subject matter of his petition to your lordships. It is couched in firm, yet respectful language in the language of a man, not regardless of what is due to himself, but at the same time, I trust,

in the cause of the parliament and people that the rights of this venerable freeman have been violated, and it is, in my opinion, the highest mark of respect that could be paid to the House, that to your justice, rather than by appeal to any inferior court, he now commits himself. Whatever may be the fate of his remonstrance, it is some satisfaction to me, though mixed with regret for the occasion, that I have this opportunity of publicly stating the obstruction to which the subject is liable, in the prosecution of the most lawful and imperious of his duties, the obtaining by petition reform in parliament. I have shortly stated his complaint; the petitioner has more fully expressed it. | Your lordships will, I hope, adopt some measure fully to protect and redress him, and not him alone, but the whole body of the people insulted and aggrieved in his person, by the interposition of an abused civil, and unlawful military force between them and their right of petition to their own representatives.

His lordship then presented the petition from Major Cartwright, which was read, complaining of the circumstances at Huddersfield, and of interruptions given to the right of petitioning, in several places in the northern parts of the kingdom, and which his ' lordship moved should be laid on the table.

Several Lords having spoken on the question, LORD BYRON replied, that he had, from motives of duty, presented this petition to their lordships' cossideration. The noble Earl had contended that it was not a petition but a speech; and that, as it contained no prayer, it should not be received. What was the necessity of a prayer? If that word were to be used in its proper sense, their lordships could not expect that any man should pray to others. Be had only to say that the petition, though in some parts expressed strongly perhaps, did not contain any improper mode of ad- | dress, but was couched in respectful language towards | their lordships; he should therefore trust their lordships would allow the petition to be received.

VI.

CANTO I.

I.

I WANT a hero: an uncommon want,

When every year and month sends forth a new one, Till, after cloying the gazettes with cant,

The age discovers he is not the true one;
Of such as these I should not care to vaunt,

I'll therefore take our ancient friend Don Juan;
We all have seen him in the pantomime
Sent to the devil, somewhat ere his time.

II.

Vernon, the butcher Cumberland, Wolfe, Hawke, Prince Ferdinand, Granby, Burgoyne, Keppel, Howe, Evil and good, have had their tithe of talk,

And fill'd their sign-posts then, like Wellesley now; Each in their turn like Banquo's monarchs stalk,

Followers of fame, « nine farrow» of that sow: France, too, had Buonaparté and Dumourier, Recorded in the Moniteur and Courier.

III.

Barnave, Brissot, Condorcet, Mirabeau,

Petion, Clootz, Danton, Marat, La Fayette,
Were French, and famous people, as we know;
And there were others, scarce forgotten yet,
Joubert, Hoche, Marceau, Lannes, Dessaix, Moreau,
With many of the military set,

Exceedingly remarkable at times,
But not at all adapted to my rhymes.

IV.

Nelson was once Britannia's god of war,

And still should be so, but the tide is turn'd; There's no more to be said of Trafalgar,

'T is with our hero quietly inurn'd; Because the army's grown more popular,

At which the naval people are concern'd: Besides, the prince is all for the land-service, Forgetting Duncan, Nelson, Howe, and Jervis,

V.

Brave men were living before Agamemnon,'

And since exceeding valorous and sage,

A good deal like him too, though quite the same none; But then they shone not on the poet's page,

And so have been forgotten :-I condemn none,

But can't find any in the present age

Fit for my poem (that is, for my new one);
So, as I said, I'll take my friend Don Juan.

Most epic poets plunge in « medias res»>
(Horace makes this the heroic turnpike road),
And then your hero tells, whene'er you please,
What went before-by way of episode,
While seated after dinner at his ease,

Beside his mistress in some soft abode,

Palace or garden, paradise, or cavern,
Which serves the happy couple for a tavern.
VII.

That is the usual method, but not mine-
My way is to begin with the beginning;
The regularity of my design

Forbids all wandering as the worst of sinning, And therefore I shall open with a line

(Although it cost me half an hour in spinning) Narrating somewhat of Don Juan's father, And also of his mother, if you'd rather.

VIII.

In Seville was he born, a pleasant city,

Famous for oranges and women-he
Who has not seen it will be much to pity,
So says the proverb-and I quite agree;
Of all the Spanish towns is none more pretty,
Cadiz perhaps but that you soon may see:---
Don Juan's parents lived beside the river,
A noble stream, and call'd the Guadalquivir.
IX.

His father's name was Jósc-Don, of course,
A true Hidalgo, free from every stain
Of Moor or Hebrew blood, he traced his source
Through the most Gothic gentlemen of Spain;
A better cavalier ne'er mounted horse,

Or being mounted, e'er got down again,
Than Jose, who begot our hero, who
Begot-but that 's to come-Well, to renew:
X.

His mother was a learned lady, famed

For every branch of every science known-
In every christian language ever named,

With virtues equall'd by her wit alone,
She made the cleverest people quite ashamed,
And even the good with inward envy groan,
Finding themselves so very much exceeded
In their own way by all the things that she did.
XI.

Her memory was a mine: she knew by heart

All Calderon and greater part of Lopé,

So that if any actor miss'd his part

She could have served him for the prompter's copy;

For her Feinagle's were an useless art,

And he himself obliged to shut up shop-he

Could never make a memory so fine as

That which adorn'd the brain of Donna Inez.

XII.

Her favourite science was the mathematical,
Her noblest virtue was her magnanimity,
Her wit (she sometimes tried at wit) was Attic all,
Her serious sayings darken'd to sublimity;
In short, in all things she was fairly what I call
A prodigy-her morning dress was dimity,
Her evening silk, or, in the summer, muslin,
And other stuffs, with which I won't stay puzzling.
XIII.

She knew the Latin-that is, « the Lord's prayer,»
And Greek-the alphabet I' m nearly sure;
She read some French romances here and there,
Although her mode of speaking was not pure;
For native Spanish she had no great care,

At least her conversation was obscure;
Her thoughts were theorems, her words a problem,'
As if she deem'd that mystery would ennoble 'em.

XIV.

She liked the English and the Hebrew tongue,
And said there was analogy between 'em;
She proved it somehow out of sacred song,

But I must leave the proofs to those who've seen 'em; But this I heard her say, and can't be wrong,

And all may think which way their judgments lean 'em, «T is strange-the Hebrew noun which means '1 am,' The English always use to govern d—n.»

XV.

XVI.

In short, she was a walking calculation,

Miss Edgeworth's novels stepping from their covers,

Or Mrs Trimmer's books on education,

Or « Colebs' Wife» set out in quest of lovers,

Morality's prim personification,

In which not Envy's self a flaw discovers; To others' share let «female errors fall,» For she had not even one-the worst of all.

XVII.

Oh! she was perfect past all parallel

Of any modern female saint's comparison; So far above the cunning powers of hell,

Her guardian angel had given up his garrison;

Even her minutest motions went as well

As those of the best time-piece made by Harrison : In virtues nothing earthly could surpass her, Save thine «< incomparable oil,» Macassar!

XVIII.

Perfect she was, but as perfection is
Insipid in this naughty world of ours,
Where our first parents never learn'd to kiss

Till they were exiled from their earlier bowers,
Where all was peace, and innocence, and bliss

(I wonder how they got through the twelve hours), Don Jose, like a lineal son of Eve,

Went plucking various fruit without her leave.

XIX.

He was a mortal of the careless kind,

With no great love for learning, or the learn'd,
Who chose to go where'er he had a mind,
And never dream'd his lady was concern'd;
The world, as usual, wickedly inclined

To see a kingdom or a house o'erturn'd,
Whisper'd he had a mistress, some said two,
But for domestic quarrels one will do.
XX.

Now Donna Inez had with all her merit,
A great opinion of her own good qualities;
Neglect, indeed, requires a saint to bear it,
And such, indeed, she was in her moralities;
But then she had a devil of a spirit,

And sometimes mix'd up fancies with realities, And let few opportunities escape

Of getting her liege lord into a scrape.

XXI.

This was an easy matter with a man

Oft in the wrong, and never on his guard; And even the wisest, do the best they can,

Have moments, hours, and days, so unprepared, That you might «brain them with their lady's fan,And sometimes ladies hit exceeding hard, And fans turn into falchions in fair hands, And why and wherefore no one understands. XXII:

T is pity learned virgins ever wed

With persons of no sort of education,
Or gentlemen, who, though well-born and bred,
Grow tired of scientific conversation:

I don't choose to say much upon this head,
I'm a plain man and in a single station,
But-Oh! ye lords of ladies intellectual,
Inform us truly, have they not hen-peck'd you
all'
XXIII.

Don Jose and his lady quarrell'd—why,
Not any of the many could divine,
Though several thousand people chose to try,
'T was surely no concern of theirs nor mine:
I loathe that low vice curiosity;

But if there's any thing in which I shine,
T is in arranging all my friends' affairs,
Not having, of my own, domestic cares.

XXIV.

And so I interfered, and with the best

Intentions, but their treatment was not kind; I think the foolish people were possess'd, For neither of them could I ever find, Although their porter afterwards confess'd-But that's no matter, and the worst's behind, For little Juan o'er me threw, down stairs, A pail of housemaid's water unawares.

XXV.

A little curly-headed, good-for-nothing,
And mischief-making monkey from his birth;
His parents ne'er agreed except in doting
Upon the most unquiet imp on earth;
Instead of quarrelling, had they been but both in ..
Their senses, they'd have sent young master forth
To school, or had him soundly whipp'd at home,
To teach him manners for the time to come.

XXVI.

Don Jose and the Donna Inez led

For sometime an unhappy sort of life, Wishing each other, not divorced, but dead; They lived respectably as man and wife, Their conduct was exceedingly well-bred,

And gave no outward signs of inward strife, Until at length the smother'd fire broke out, And put the business past all kind of doubt. XXVII.

For Inez call'd some druggists and physicians, And tried to prove her loving lord was mad, But as he had some lucid intermissions,

She next decided he was only bad; Yet when they ask'd her for her depositions, No sort of explanation could be had, Save that her duty both to man and God Required this conduct—which seem'd very odd.

XXVIII.

She kept a journal, where his faults were noted,
And open'd certain trunks of books and letters,
All which might, if occasion served, be quoted;
And then she had all Seville for abettors,
Besides her good old grandmother (who doted);
The hearers of her case became repeaters,
Then advocates, inquisitors, and judges,
Some for amusement, others for old grudges.
XXIX.

And then this best and meekest woman bore
With such serenity her husband's woes,
Just as the Spartan ladies did of yore,

Who saw their spouses kill'd, and nobly chose
Never to say a word about them more-

Calmly she heard each calumny that rose, And saw his agonies with such sublimity,

That all the world exclaim'd, « What magnanimity!>>

XXX.

XXXIII.

He died and most unluckily, because,
According to all hints I could collect
From counsel learned in those kinds of laws

(Although their talk 's obscure and circumspect),
His death contrived to spoil a charming cause;
A thousand pities also with respect
To public feeling, which on this occasion
Was manifested in a great sensation.

XXXIV.

But ah! he died! and buried with him lay
The public feeling and the lawyer's fees:
His house was sold, his servants sent away,
A Jew took one of his two mistresses,
A priest the other-at least so they say:
I ask'd the doctors after his disease,
He died of the slow fever called the tertian,
And left his widow to her own aversion.

XXXV.

Yet Jóse was an honourable man,

That I must say, who knew him very well;
Therefore his frailties I'll no further scan,
Indeed there were not many more to tell;
And if his passions now and then outran
Discretion, and were not so peaceable
As Numa's (who was also named Pompilius),
He had been ill brought up, and was born bilious.
XXXVI.

Whate'er might be his worthlessness or worth,
Poor fellow! he had many things to wound him,
Let's own, since it can do no good on earth;

It was a trying moment that which found him
Standing alone beside his desolate hearth,

Where all his household gods lay shiver'd round him ; No choice was left his feelings or his pride Save death or Doctors' Commons-so he died.

XXXVII.

XXXI.

And if our quarrels should rip up old stories,
And help them with a lie or two additional,
I'm not to blame, as you well know, no more is
Any one else they were become traditional;
Besides, their resurrection aids our glories

By contrast, which is what we just were wishing all:
And science profits by this resurrection-
Dead scandals form good subjects for dissection.

XXXII.

Their friends had tried at reconciliation,

Then their relations, who made matters worse ("T were hard to tell upon a like occasion

To whom it may be best to have recourseI can't say much for friend or yet relation): The lawyers did their utmost for divorce, But scarce a fee was paid on either side Before, unluckily, Don Jose died.

To a chancery suit, and messuages, and lands,
Which, with a long minority and care,

Promised to turn out well in proper hands:
Inez became sole guardian, which was fair,
And answer'd but to nature's just demands;
An only son left with an only mother
Is brought up much more wisely than another.
XXXVIII.

Sagest of women, even of widows, she

Resolved that Juan should be quite a paragon, And worthy of the noblest pedigree

(His sire was of Castile, his dam from Arragon): Then for accomplishments of chivalry,

In case our lord the king should go to war again, He learn'd the arts of riding, fencing, gunnery, And how to scale a fortress-or a nunnery.

XXXIX.

But that which Donna Inez most desired,
And saw into herself each day before all
The learned tutors whom for him she hired,
Was that his breeding should be strictly moral;
Much into all his studies she inquired,

And so they were submitted first to her, all,
Arts, sciences, no branch was made a mystery
To Juan's eyes, excepting natural history.

XL.

The languages, especially the dead,

The sciences, and most of all the abstruse, The arts, at least all such as could be said To be the most remote from common use, In all these he was much and deeply read;

But not a page of any thing that 's loose, Or hints continuation of the species, Was ever suffer'd, lest he should grow vicious. XLI.

His classic studies made a little puzzle,

Because of filthy loves of gods and goddesses, Who in the earlier ages raised a bustle,

But never put on pantaloons or bodices; His reverend tutors had at times a tussle,

And for their Æneids, Iliads and Odysseys, Were forced to make an odd sort of apology, For Donna Inez dreaded the mythology.

XLII.

Ovid's a rake, as half his verses show him;
Anacreon's morals are a still worse sample;
Catullus scarcely has a decent poem;

I don't think Sappho's Ode a good example,
Although 3 Longinus tells us there is no hymn

Where the sublime soars forth on wings more ample; But Virgil's songs are pure, except that horrid one Beginning with « Formosum pastor Corydon.» XLIII.

Lucretius' irreligion is too strong

For early stomachs, to prove wholesome food; I can't help thinking Juvenal was wrong,

Although no doubt his real intent was good, For speaking out so plainly in his song,

So much indeed as to be downright rude; And then what proper person can be partial To all those nauseous epigrams of Martial?

XLIV.

Juan was taught from out the best edition,
Expurgated by learned men, who place,
Judiciously, from out the schoolboy's vision,
The grosser parts; but, fearful to deface
Too much their modest bard by this omission,
And pitying sore his mutilated case,
They only add them all in an appendix,4
Which saves, in fact, the trouble of an index;

XLV.

For there we have them all << at one fell swoop,»
Instead of being scatter'd through the pages;
They stand forth marshall'd in a handsome troop,
To meet the ingenuous youth of future ages,
Till some less rigid editor shall stoop

To call them back'into their separate cages,
Instead of standing staring altogether,
Like garden gods-and not so decent, either.
XLVI.

The Missal too (it was the family Missal)

Was ornamented in a sort of way Which ancient mass books often are, and this all Kinds of grotesques illumined; and how they Who saw those figures on the margin kiss all, Could turn their optics to the text and pray Is more than I know-but Don Juan's mother Kept this herself, and gave her son another.

XLVII.

Sermons he read, and lectures he endured,
And homilies, and lives of all the saints;
To Jerome and to Chrysostom inured,

He did not take such studies for restraints:
But how faith is acquired, and then insured,
So well not one of the aforesaid paints
As Saint Augustine, in his fine Confessions,
Which make the reader envy his transgressions.
XLVIII.

This, too, was a seal'd book to little Juan-
I can't but say that his mamma was right,
If such an education was the true one.

She scarcely trusted him from out her sight;
Her maids were old, and if she took a new one
You might be sure she was a perfect fright;
She did this during even her husband's life-
I recommend as much to every wife.

XLIX.

Young Juan wax'd in goodliness and grace:
At six a charming child, and at eleven
With all the promise of as fine a face

As e'er to man's maturer growth was given :
He studied steadily and grew apace,

And seem'd, at least, in the right road to heaven; For half his days were pass'd at church, the other Between his tutors, confessor, and mother.

L.

At six, I said he was a charming child,
At twelve he was a fine, but quiet boy;
Although in infancy a little wild,

They tamed him down amongst them: to destroy His natural spirit not in vain they toil'd,

At least it seem'd so ; and his mother's joy Was to declare how sage and still, and steady, Her young philosopher was grown already.

LI.

I had my doubts, perhaps I have them still, But what I say is neither here nor there;

I knew his father well, and have some skill In character-but it would not be fair From sire to son to augur good or ill:

He and his wife were an ill-sorted pairBut scandal 's my aversion-I protest Against all evil speaking, even in jest.

LII.

For my part I say nothing-nothing-but
This I will say--my reasons are my own-
That if I had an only son to put

To school (as God be praised that I have none)
'T is not with Donna Inez I would shut
Him up to learn his catechism alone;
No-no-I'd send him out betimes to college,
For there it was I pick'd up my own knowledge.
LIII.

For there one learns-'tis not for me to boast,
Though I acquired-but I pass over that,

As well as all the Greek I since have lost :

I say that there's the place-but « Verbum sat.»

I think I pick'd up, too, as well as most, Knowledge of matters-but, no matter whatI never married-but I think, I know,

That sons should not be educated so.