3 books to know Juvenalian Satire. Lord Byron

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СКАЧАТЬ Juan wax'd in goodliness and grace;

      At six a charming child, and at eleven

      With all the promise of as fine a face

      As e'er to man's maturer growth was given:

      He studied steadily, and grew apace,

      And seem'd, at least, in the right road to heaven,

      For half his days were pass'd at church, the other

      Between his tutors, confessor, and mother.

      At six, I said, he was a charming child,

      At twelve he was a fine, but quiet boy;

      Although in infancy a little wild,

      They tamed him down amongst them: to destroy

      His natural spirit not in vain they toil'd,

      At least it seem'd so; and his mother's joy

      Was to declare how sage, and still, and steady,

      Her young philosopher was grown already.

      I had my doubts, perhaps I have them still,

      But what I say is neither here nor there:

      I knew his father well, and have some skill

      In character—but it would not be fair

      From sire to son to augur good or ill:

      He and his wife were an ill-sorted pair—

      But scandal 's my aversion—I protest

      Against all evil speaking, even in jest.

      For my part I say nothing—nothing—but

      This I will say—my reasons are my own—

      That if I had an only son to put

      To school (as God be praised that I have none),

      'T is not with Donna Inez I would shut

      Him up to learn his catechism alone,

      No—no—I 'd send him out betimes to college,

      For there it was I pick'd up my own knowledge.

      For there one learns—'t is not for me to boast,

      Though I acquired—but I pass over that,

      As well as all the Greek I since have lost:

      I say that there 's the place—but 'Verbum sat.'

      I think I pick'd up too, as well as most,

      Knowledge of matters—but no matter what—

      I never married—but, I think, I know

      That sons should not be educated so.

      Young Juan now was sixteen years of age,

      Tall, handsome, slender, but well knit: he seem'd

      Active, though not so sprightly, as a page;

      And everybody but his mother deem'd

      Him almost man; but she flew in a rage

      And bit her lips (for else she might have scream'd)

      If any said so, for to be precocious

      Was in her eyes a thing the most atrocious.

      Amongst her numerous acquaintance, all

      Selected for discretion and devotion,

      There was the Donna Julia, whom to call

      Pretty were but to give a feeble notion

      Of many charms in her as natural

      As sweetness to the flower, or salt to ocean,

      Her zone to Venus, or his bow to Cupid

      (But this last simile is trite and stupid).

      The darkness of her Oriental eye

      Accorded with her Moorish origin

      (Her blood was not all Spanish, by the by;

      In Spain, you know, this is a sort of sin);

      When proud Granada fell, and, forced to fly,

      Boabdil wept, of Donna Julia's kin

      Some went to Africa, some stay'd in Spain,

      Her great-great-grandmamma chose to remain.

      She married (I forget the pedigree)

      With an Hidalgo, who transmitted down

      His blood less noble than such blood should be;

      At such alliances his sires would frown,

      In that point so precise in each degree

      That they bred in and in, as might be shown,

      Marrying their cousins—nay, their aunts, and nieces,

      Which always spoils the breed, if it increases.

      This heathenish cross restored the breed again,

      Ruin'd its blood, but much improved its flesh;

      For from a root the ugliest in Old Spain

      Sprung up a branch as beautiful as fresh;

      The sons no more were short, the daughters plain:

      But there 's a rumour which I fain would hush,

      'T is said that Donna Julia's grandmamma

      Produced her Don more heirs at love than law.

      However this might be, the race went on

      Improving still through every generation,

      Until it centred in an only son,

      Who left an only daughter; my narration

      May have suggested that this single one

      Could be but Julia (whom on this occasion

      I shall have much to speak about), and she

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