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"The circle smil'd, then whisper'd, and then sneer'd, The misses bridled, and the matrons frown'd; Some hoped things might not turn out as they fear'd: Some would not deem such women could be found, Some ne'er believed one half of what they heard: Some look'd perplex'd, and others look'd profound." Don Juan, ix., 78.
For his dear love, I left them all, And while that love is mine, If dreary wastes were now my home, Think not I would repine. Yet still one thought, from day to day, Tells of my home, now far away! But if his love should ever fade, Like twilight o'er this shore, And whisper'd words of tenderness, Now mine, be heard no more!
O goodly feast for this one poor eye! Oh, that Master Tingcomb had seen this day!" I declare the tears were running down his nose; but Delia march'd out, cutting short his hypocrisy. In the passage she whisper'd "Villainy, Jack!" "Hush!" I answered, "and listen: Master Tingcomb is no more in that coffin than I." "Then where is he?" "That is just what we are to discover."