With such small gear to give myself concern:
Indeed I've not the necessary bile;
My natural temper's really aught but stern,
And even my Muse's worst reproof's a smile;
And then she drops a brief and modern curtsy,
And glides away, assured she never hurts ye.
LXIV.
My Juan, whom I left in deadly peril
Amongst live poets and blue ladies, passed
With some small profit through that field so sterile,