A new persona has arrived:
Five versts or so from Krasnogory,
Our Lensky's seat, there lived and thrived
In philosophical seclusion
(And does so still, have no illusion)
Zartskyonce a rowdy clown,
Chief gambler and arch rake in town,
The tavern tribune and a liar
But now a kind and simple soul
Who plays an unwed father's role,
A faithful friend, a peaceful squire,
And man of honour, nothing less:
Thus does our age its sins redress!
5
Time was, when flunkies in high places
Would praise him for his nasty grit:
He could, it's true, from twenty paces,
Shoot pistol at an ace and hit;
And once, when riding battle station,
He'd earned a certain reputation
When in a frenzied state indeed
He'd plunged in mud from Kalmuk steed,
Drunk as a pig, and suffered capture
(A prize to make the French feel proud!).
Like noble Regulus,* he bowed,
Accepting hostage bonds with rapture
In hopes that he (on charge) might squeeze
Three bottles daily from Vry's.*
6
He used to banter rather neatly,
Could gull a fool, and had an eye
For fooling clever men completely,
For all to see, or on the sly;
Of course not all his pranks succeeded
Or passed unpunished or unheeded,
And sometimes he himself got bled
And ended up the dunce instead.
He loved good merry disputations,
Could answer keenly, be obtuse,
Put silence cunningly to use,
Or cunningly start altercations;
Could get two friends prepared to fight,
Then lead them to the duelling site;
7
Or else he'd patch things up between them
So he might lunch with them as guest,
And later secretly demean them
With nasty gossip or a jest. . . .
(With other capers such as courting)
