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George Gordon Byron: Beppo ( words) In Beppo the garrulous narrator tells the story of how Beppo (short for Guiseppe) disappears on a sea voyage. Beppo (Byron, versions). From Wikisource For works with similar titles, see Beppo. Versions of Versions of Beppo, a Venetian story include. observations: Byron’s poem is set in Venice at Carnevale: the season of joy and pleasure preceding Lent. Heroine Laura thinks she is widowed.

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Beppo (Byron, versions)

No chemistry for them unfolds her gases, No metaphysics are let loose in lectures, No circulating library amasses Religious novels, moral tales, and strictures Upon the living manners, as they pass us; No exhibition glares with annual pictures; They stare not on the stars from out their attics, Nor deal thank God for that! The time less liked by husbands than by lovers. Why, not a word: But his problem with poets ran deeper than a dislike of certain examples of the breed.

You’d better walk about begirt with briars, Instead of coat and smallclothes, byroh put on A single stitch reflecting upon friars, Although you swore it only was in fun; They’d haul you o’er the coals, and stir the fires Of Phlegethon with every mother’s son, Nor say one mass to cool the caldron’s bubble That boil’d your bones, unless you paid them double.

For the benefit of the less knowing, he gestures heavily at what he isn’t saying. The poem manifests a number of typical Byronic qualities, like the digressive structure and the use of satirical jabs at targets familiar to Byron’s readership, bbyron as literate women and as well as other poets including Robert Southeywho appears as “Botherby”.

Beppo (Byron, versions) – Wikisource, the free online library

Oh, mirth and innocence! They went to the Ridotto; – ’tis a hall Where people dance, and sup, and dance again; Its proper name, perhaps, were a masqued ball, But that’s of no importance to my strain; ‘Tis on a smaller scale like our Vauxhall, Excepting that it can’t be spoilt by rain; The company is “mix’d” the phrase I quote is As much as saying they’re below your notice. English Writing and Culture of the Romantic Period A few months later, he began work on “Beppo”, and in it he tried to capture something of the flavour of his Venetian life, and something of the personality he had described to Moore.

He was a Turk, the colour of mahogany; And Laura saw him, and at first was glad, Because the Turks so much admire phylogyny, Although their usage of their wives is sad; ‘Tis said they use no better than a dog any Poor woman, whom they purchase like a pad; They have a number, though the ne’er exhibit ’em, Four wives by law, and concubines: What would youth be without love!


All of this takes up very little space. And there are dresses splendid, but fantastical. If you need to create a new bookshelf to save this article in, please make sure that you are logged in, then go to your ‘Account’ here. Our Laura’s Turk still kept his eyes upon her, Less in the Mussulman than Christian way, Which seems to say, “Madam, I do you honour, And while I please to stare, you’ll please to stay!

With fiddling, feasting, dancing, drinking, masking. Save this article If you need to create a new bookshelf to save this article in, please make sure that you are logged in, then go to your ‘Account’ here.

Literary Encyclopedia | Beppo

In Beppo the garrulous narrator tells the story of how Beppo short for Guiseppe disappears on a sea voyage, how his wife Laura assumes he’s dead and, after a perfunctory period of mourning, takes a dilettante called The Count as a lover.

A pretty woman suspects that her sailor husband, Beppo, has been lost at sea. Please help improve this article by adding citations to reliable sources. Byron himself, as he makes clear in this poem, is suspicious of writers defined entirely by their art.

He’s trying to give a rounder and more layered self-portrait than he had given in “Childe Harold”. I love the language, that soft bastard Latin, Which melts like kisses from a female mouth, And sounds as if it should be writ on satin, With syllables which breathe of the sweet South, And gentle liquids gliding all so pat in, That not a single accent seems uncouth, Like our harsh northern whistling, grunting guttural, Which we’re obliged to hiss, and byrln, and sputter all. The byon recalls some face, as’t were with pain, You once have seen, but ne’er will see again.

He turns out to be her old husband. This article does not cite any sources.

Louis MacNeice once wrote: For glances beget ogles, ogles sighs, Sighs wishes, wishes words, and words a letter, Which flies on wings of light-heel’d Mercuries, Who do such things because they know no better; And byrin, God knows what nyron may arise, When love links two young people in one fetter, Vile assignations, and adulterous beds, Elopements, broken vows, and hearts, and byrn. And there are dresses splendid, but fantastical, Masks of all times and nations, Turks and Jews, And harlequins and clowns, with feats gymnastical, Greeks, Romans, Yankee-doodles, and Hindoos; All kinds of dress, except the ecclesiastical, All people, as their fancies hit, may choose, But no one in these parts may quiz the clergy, – Therefore take heed, ye Freethinkers!

According to Venetian customs she takes on a Cavalier Serventesimply called “the Count”.

Byron occasionally found better things to do; he died pursuing them. Which means that I like all and everything. With all its sinful doings, I must say, That Italy’s a pleasant place to me, Who love to see the Sun shine every day, And vines not nail’d to walls from tree to tree Festoon’d, much like the back scene of a play, Or melodrame, which people flock to see, When the first act is ended by a dance In vineyards copied from the south of France.


Byron sets the scene for his Venetian tale with a piece of very ordinary information. Beppo then turns up again, recounts how he converted to Islam and lived as a pirate, is reconciled with Laura and comes to a pragmatic agreement with the Count.

There’s a kind of chicken and egg argument, in Byron criticism, about the roles of irony and sentiment in his work.

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But saving this, you may put on whate’er You like by way of doublet, cape, or cloak. From Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia. Laura was blooming still, had made the best Of time, and bpepo return’d the compliment, She look’d extremely well where’er she went; A pretty woman is a welcome guest, And Laura’s brow a frown had rarely bent; Indeed, she shone all smiles, and seem’d to flatter Mankind with her black eyes for looking at her.

Why I thank God for that is no great beopo, I have my reasons, you no doubt suppose, And as, perhaps, they would not highly flatter, I’ll keep them for my life to come in prose It was the Carnival, as I have said Some six and thirty stanzas back, and so Laura the usual preparations made, Which you do when your mind’s made up to go To-night to Mrs.

Irony, in Byron, is a kind of investment he makes, to build up his capital of sincerity.

Apparently, the husband gets on just fine with the Count. My pen is at the bottom of a page, Which being finish’d, here the story ends; ‘Tis to be wish’d it byroh been sooner done, But stories somehow lengthen when begun. Whate’er his youth had suffer’d, his old age With wealth and talking made him some amends; Though Laura sometimes put him in a rage, I’ve heard the Count and he were always friends.

And how so many years did you contrive To – Bless me! But I am but a nameless sort of person, A broken Dandy lately on my travels And take for rhyme, to hook my rambling verse on, The first that Walker’s Lexicon unravels, And when I can’t find that, I put a worse on, Not caring brppo I ought for critics’ cavils; I’ve half a mind to tumble down to prose, But verse is more in fashion – so here goes.

Then he was faithful too, as well as amorous; So that no sort of female could complain, Although they’re now and then a little clamourous, He never put the pretty souls in pain; His heart was one of those which most enamour us, Wax to receive, and marble to retain: