XXII
Though the devils, snakes and amours
Are jumping on the scene, and noising,
And tired lackeys sleep on fur coats
Before the entrance closed doors;
Though men yet not ceased to stamp,
To blow nose, cough, hiss, clap;
Though inside and out lanterns
Are shining brightly, glaring;
Though by cold the horses're whithing
In their bridles, being too tired,
And their drivers, round the fires,
Are scolding masters, in palms beating:
Onegin hastes to go out
And put another coat now.
XXIII
And will that be a right description
Of solitary room, where the man,
Fan of high vogue was clothed immediately,
Undressed and got the cloths again?
All things to suit conceited fun,
Which are exchanged by trade for lard
Or wood, and carried by a boat
Through Baltic waves from London shops;
All things, that Paris offers a lot
For hungry taste of soul playing
For luxury and bliss of fashion,
Which was invented for a joy, -
All decorated room of lad,
Philosofer of eighteen years.