’Twere difficult to say what was the object Of Adeline, in bringing this same lay To bear on what appear’d to her the subject Of Juan’s nervous feelings on that day. Perhaps she merely had the simple project To laugh him out of his supposed dismay; Perhaps she might wish to confirm him in it, Though why I cannot say—at least this minute. But so far the immediate effect Was to restore him to his self-propriety, A thing quite necessary to the elect, Who wish to take the tone of their society: In which you cannot be too circumspect, Whether the mode be persiflage or piety, But wear the newest mantle of hypocrisy, On pain of much displeasing the gynocracy. And therefore Juan now began to rally His spirits, and without more explanation To jest upon such themes in many a sally. Her Grace, too, also seized the same occasion, With various similar remarks to tally, But wish’d for a still more detail’d narration Of this same mystic friar’s curious doings, About the present family’s deaths and wooings. Of these few could say more than has been said; They pass’d as such things do, for superstition With some, while others, who had more in dread The theme, half credited the strange tradition; And much was talk’d on all sides on that head: But Juan, when cross-question’d on the vision, Which some supposed (though he had not avow’d it) Had stirr’d him, answer’d in a way to cloud it. And then, the mid-day having worn to one, The company prepared to separate; Some to their several pastimes, or to none, Some wondering ’twas so early, some so late. There was a goodly match too, to be run Between some greyhounds on my lord’s estate, And a young race-horse of old pedigree Match’d for the spring, whom several went to see. There was a picture-dealer who had brought A special Titian, warranted original, So precious that it was not to be bought, Though princes the possessor were besieging all. The king himself had cheapen’d it, but thought The civil list he deigns to accept (obliging all His subjects by his gracious acceptation) Too scanty, in these times of low taxation. But as Lord Henry was a connoisseur,— The friend of artists, if not arts,—the owner, With motives the most classical and pure, So that he would have been the very donor, Rather than seller, had his wants been fewer, So much he deem’d his patronage an honour, Had brought the capo d’opera, not for sale, But for his judgment—never known to fail. There was a modern Goth, I mean a Gothic Bricklayer of Babel, call’d an architect, Brought to survey these grey walls, which though so thick, Might have from time acquired some slight defect; Who after rummaging the Abbey through thick And thin, produced a plan whereby to erect New buildings of correctest conformation, And throw down old—which he call’d restoration.