Baba, when all the damsels were withdrawn, Motioned to Juan to approach, and then A second time desired him to kneel down, And kiss the lady's foot; which maxim when He heard repeated, Juan with a frown Drew himself up to his full height again, And said, "It grieved him, but he could not stoop To any shoe, unless it shod the Pope." CII. Baba, indignant at this ill-timed pride, Made fierce remonstrances, and then a threat He muttered (but the last was given aside) About a bow-string--quite in vain; not yet Would Juan bend, though 't were to Mahomet's bride: There's nothing in the world like _etiquette_ In kingly chambers or imperial halls, As also at the Race and County Balls. CIV. He stood like Atlas, with a world of words About his ears, and nathless would not bend; The blood of all his line's Castilian lords Boiled in his veins, and, rather than descend To stain his pedigree, a thousand swords A thousand times of him had made an end; At length perceiving the "_foot_" could not stand, Baba proposed that he should kiss the hand, CV. Here was an honourable compromise, A half-way house of diplomatic rest, Where they might meet in much more peaceful guise; And Juan now his willingness expressed To use all fit and proper courtesies, Adding, that this was commonest and best, For through the South, the custom still commands The gentleman to kiss the lady's hands. CVI. And he advanced, though with but a bad grace, Though on more _thorough-bred_[304] or fairer fingers No lips e'er left their transitory trace: On such as these the lip too fondly lingers, And for one kiss would fain imprint a brace, As you will see, if she you love shall bring hers In contact; and sometimes even a fair stranger's An almost twelvemonth's constancy endangers. CVII. The lady eyed him o'er and o'er, and bade Baba retire, which he obeyed in style, As if well used to the retreating trade; And taking hints in good part all the while, He whispered Juan not to be afraid, And looking on him with a sort of smile, Took leave, with such a face of satisfaction, As good men wear who have done a virtuous action. CVIII. When he was gone, there was a sudden change: I know not what might be the lady's thought, But o'er her bright brow flashed a tumult strange, And into her clear cheek the blood was brought, Blood-red as sunset summer clouds which range The verge of Heaven; and in her large eyes wrought, A mixture of sensations might be scanned, Of half voluptuousness and half command. CIX.