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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;

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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.


His father's name was Jóse · Don; of course,
A true Hidalgo, free from overy 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 Jóse, who begot our hero, who Begot but that's to come- -Well, to renew:


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.


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 serv'd 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.


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.


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.


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 my think which way their judgments

lean 'em,

"Tis strange


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the Hebrew noun which means

I am,"

The English always use to govern d―n."

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In short, she was a walking calculation,

Miss Edgeworth's novels stepping from their


Or Mrs. Trimmer's books on education,

Or,,Coelebs' 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.

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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

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

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