THE juste milieu, the juste milieu,
From France imported neat and new,
Is now the rule on Britain's shore,
And homespun truth is prized no more !
Where once you saw the old true blue,
You now have got the juste milieu.
Who tries the juste milieu to hold,
Renounces all that's free and bold ;
Shuffling and shifting to and fro,
He wont say " yes," he cant say " no,"
But vibrating between the two,
'Tis thus he keeps the juste milieu.
A trimmer still in Church and State,
No theme can rouse his love or hate;
Lukewarm and listless, dull and slow,
A timid friend, a feeble foe ;
He's half with me and half with you,
And cheats us both, this juste milieu.
Out on this garb of fraud and guile,
This shilly-shally, see-saw style!
Give me the man who scorns to sneak,
Can strongly feel and firmly speak,
A manly course will dare pursue,
And spurns this truckling juste milieu.
And see, at last, the scurvy end
That must the trimmer's plans attend !
Between two stools the body's weight
Can find no sure or stable seat?
He totters soon, and, slipping through,
Falls plump upon his juste milieu.
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Probable period of publication:
1830-1840 shelfmark: RB.m.143(178)
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