3 books to know Juvenalian Satire. Lord Byron

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СКАЧАТЬ where you please—we 've nothing, sir, to hide;

      Only another time, I trust, you 'll tell us,

      Or for the sake of decency abide

      A moment at the door, that we may be

      Drest to receive so much good company.

      'And now, sir, I have done, and say no more;

      The little I have said may serve to show

      The guileless heart in silence may grieve o'er

      The wrongs to whose exposure it is slow:

      I leave you to your conscience as before,

      'T will one day ask you why you used me so?

      God grant you feel not then the bitterest grief!-

      Antonia! where 's my pocket-handkerchief?'

      She ceased, and turn'd upon her pillow; pale

      She lay, her dark eyes flashing through their tears,

      Like skies that rain and lighten; as a veil,

      Waved and o'ershading her wan cheek, appears

      Her streaming hair; the black curls strive, but fail,

      To hide the glossy shoulder, which uprears

      Its snow through all;—her soft lips lie apart,

      And louder than her breathing beats her heart.

      The Senhor Don Alfonso stood confused;

      Antonia bustled round the ransack'd room,

      And, turning up her nose, with looks abused

      Her master and his myrmidons, of whom

      Not one, except the attorney, was amused;

      He, like Achates, faithful to the tomb,

      So there were quarrels, cared not for the cause,

      Knowing they must be settled by the laws.

      With prying snub-nose, and small eyes, he stood,

      Following Antonia's motions here and there,

      With much suspicion in his attitude;

      For reputations he had little care;

      So that a suit or action were made good,

      Small pity had he for the young and fair,

      And ne'er believed in negatives, till these

      Were proved by competent false witnesses.

      But Don Alfonso stood with downcast looks,

      And, truth to say, he made a foolish figure;

      When, after searching in five hundred nooks,

      And treating a young wife with so much rigour,

      He gain'd no point, except some self-rebukes,

      Added to those his lady with such vigour

      Had pour'd upon him for the last half-hour,

      Quick, thick, and heavy—as a thunder-shower.

      At first he tried to hammer an excuse,

      To which the sole reply was tears and sobs,

      And indications of hysterics, whose

      Prologue is always certain throes, and throbs,

      Gasps, and whatever else the owners choose:

      Alfonso saw his wife, and thought of Job's;

      He saw too, in perspective, her relations,

      And then he tried to muster all his patience.

      He stood in act to speak, or rather stammer,

      But sage Antonia cut him short before

      The anvil of his speech received the hammer,

      With 'Pray, sir, leave the room, and say no more,

      Or madam dies.'—Alfonso mutter'd, 'D—n her,'

      But nothing else, the time of words was o'er;

      He cast a rueful look or two, and did,

      He knew not wherefore, that which he was bid.

      With him retired his 'posse comitatus,'

      The attorney last, who linger'd near the door

      Reluctantly, still tarrying there as late as

      Antonia let him—not a little sore

      At this most strange and unexplain'd 'hiatus'

      In Don Alfonso's facts, which just now wore

      An awkward look; as he revolved the case,

      The door was fasten'd in his legal face.

      No sooner was it bolted, than—Oh shame!

      O sin! Oh sorrow! and oh womankind!

      How can you do such things and keep your fame,

      Unless this world, and t' other too, be blind?

      Nothing so dear as an unfilch'd good name!

      But to proceed—for there is more behind:

      With much heartfelt reluctance be it said,

      Young Juan slipp'd half-smother'd, from the bed.

      He had been hid—I don't pretend to say

      How, nor can I indeed describe the where—

      Young, slender, and pack'd easily, he lay,

      No doubt, in little compass, round or square;

      But pity him I neither must nor may

      His suffocation by that pretty pair;

      'T were better, sure, to die so, than be shut

      With maudlin Clarence in his Malmsey butt.

      And, secondly, I pity not, СКАЧАТЬ