Oh, enviable Briareus! with thy hands And heads, if thou hadst all things multiplied In such proportion!--But my Muse withstands The giant thought of being a Titan's bride, Or travelling in Patagonian lands; So let us back to Lilliput, and guide Our hero through the labyrinth of Love In which we left him several lines above. XXIX. He went forth with the lovely Odalisques,[342] At the given signal joined to their array; And though he certainly ran many risks, Yet he could not at times keep, by the way, (Although the consequences of such frisks Are worse than the worst damages men pay In moral England, where the thing's a tax,) From ogling all their charms from breasts to backs. XXX. Still he forgot not his disguise:--along The galleries from room to room they walked, A virgin-like and edifying throng, By eunuchs flanked; while at their head there stalked A dame who kept up discipline among The female ranks, so that none stirred or talked, Without her sanction on their she-parades: Her title was "the Mother of the Maids." XXXI. Whether she was a "Mother," I know not, Or whether they were "Maids" who called her Mother; But this is her Seraglio title, got I know not how, but good as any other; So Cantemir[343] can tell you, or De Tott:[344] Her office was to keep aloof or smother All bad propensities in fifteen hundred Young women, and correct them when they blundered. XXXII. A goodly sinecure, no doubt! but made More easy by the absence of all men-- Except his Majesty,--who, with her aid, And guards, and bolts, and walls, and now and then A slight example, just to cast a shade Along the rest, contrived to keep this den Of beauties cool as an Italian convent, Where all the passions have, alas! but one vent. XXXIII. And what is that? Devotion, doubtless--how Could you ask such a question?--but we will Continue. As I said, this goodly row Of ladies of all countries at the will[345] Of one good man, with stately march and slow, Like water-lilies floating down a rill-- Or rather lake--for _rills_ do _not_ run _slowly_,-- Paced on most maiden-like and melancholy. XXXIV. But when they reached their own apartments, there, Like birds, or boys, or bedlamites broke loose, Waves at spring-tide, or women anywhere When freed from bonds (which are of no great use After all), or like Irish at a fair, Their guards being gone, and as it were a truce Established between them and bondage, they Began to sing, dance, chatter, smile, and play. XXXV.