3 books to know Juvenalian Satire. Lord Byron

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      O ye! who teach the ingenuous youth of nations,

      Holland, France, England, Germany, or Spain,

      I pray ye flog them upon all occasions,

      It mends their morals, never mind the pain:

      The best of mothers and of educations

      In Juan's case were but employ'd in vain,

      Since, in a way that 's rather of the oddest, he

      Became divested of his native modesty.

      Had he but been placed at a public school,

      In the third form, or even in the fourth,

      His daily task had kept his fancy cool,

      At least, had he been nurtured in the north;

      Spain may prove an exception to the rule,

      But then exceptions always prove its worth—

      A lad of sixteen causing a divorce

      Puzzled his tutors very much, of course.

      I can't say that it puzzles me at all,

      If all things be consider'd: first, there was

      His lady—mother, mathematical,

      A—never mind; his tutor, an old ass;

      A pretty woman (that 's quite natural,

      Or else the thing had hardly come to pass);

      A husband rather old, not much in unity

      With his young wife—a time, and opportunity.

      Well—well, the world must turn upon its axis,

      And all mankind turn with it, heads or tails,

      And live and die, make love and pay our taxes,

      And as the veering wind shifts, shift our sails;

      The king commands us, and the doctor quacks us,

      The priest instructs, and so our life exhales,

      A little breath, love, wine, ambition, fame,

      Fighting, devotion, dust,—perhaps a name.

      I said that Juan had been sent to Cadiz—

      A pretty town, I recollect it well—

      'T is there the mart of the colonial trade is

      (Or was, before Peru learn'd to rebel),

      And such sweet girls—I mean, such graceful ladies,

      Their very walk would make your bosom swell;

      I can't describe it, though so much it strike,

      Nor liken it—I never saw the like:

      An Arab horse, a stately stag, a barb

      New broke, a cameleopard, a gazelle,

      No—none of these will do;—and then their garb!

      Their veil and petticoat—Alas! to dwell

      Upon such things would very near absorb

      A canto—then their feet and ankles,—well,

      Thank Heaven I 've got no metaphor quite ready

      (And so, my sober Muse—come, let 's be steady—

      Chaste Muse!—well, if you must, you must)—the veil

      Thrown back a moment with the glancing hand,

      While the o'erpowering eye, that turns you pale,

      Flashes into the heart:—All sunny land

      Of love! when I forget you, may I fail

      To—say my prayers—but never was there plann'd

      A dress through which the eyes give such a volley,

      Excepting the Venetian Fazzioli.

      But to our tale: the Donna Inez sent

      Her son to Cadiz only to embark;

      To stay there had not answer'd her intent,

      But why?—we leave the reader in the dark—

      'T was for a voyage that the young man was meant,

      As if a Spanish ship were Noah's ark,

      To wean him from the wickedness of earth,

      And send him like a dove of promise forth.

      Don Juan bade his valet pack his things

      According to direction, then received

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