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A Satire Anthology
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Год написания книги
2017
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An island lies, whose name I do not know;
But that’s of little consequence, if so
You understand that there they had no hens,
Till, by a happy chance, a traveller,
After a while, carried some poultry there.
Fast they increased as anyone could wish,
Until fresh eggs became the common dish.
But all the natives ate them boiled, they say,
Because the stranger taught no other way.
At last th’ experiment by one was tried —
Sagacious man! – of having his eggs fried.
And oh, what boundless honours, for his pains,
His fruitful and inventive fancy gains!
Another, now, to have them baked devised —
Most happy thought! and still another, spiced.
Who ever thought eggs were so delicate!
Next, someone gave his friends an omelette:
“Ah!” all exclaimed, “what an ingenious feat!”
But scarce a year went by, an artist shouts,
“I have it now! ye’re all a pack of louts!
With nice tomatoes all my eggs are stewed.”
And the whole island thought the mode so good,
That they would so have cooked them to this day,
But that a stranger, wandering out that way,
Another dish the gaping natives taught,
And showed them eggs cooked à la Huguenot.
Successive cooks thus proved their skill diverse,
But how shall I be able to rehearse
All of the new, delicious condiments
That luxury from time to time invents?
Soft, hard, and dropped; and now with sugar sweet,
And now boiled up with milk, the eggs they eat;
In sherbet, in preserves; at last they tickle
Their palates fanciful with eggs in pickle.
All had their day – the last was still the best.
But a grave senior thus one day addressed
The epicures: “Boast, ninnies, if you will,
These countless prodigies of gastric skill,
But blessings on the man who brought the hens!”
Beyond the sunny Philippines
Our crowd of modern authors need not go
New-fangled modes of cooking eggs to show.
Tomas Yriarte.
THE LITERARY LADY
WHAT motley cares Corilla’s mind perplex,
Whom maids and metaphors conspire to vex!
In studious dishabille behold her sit,
A letter’d gossip and a household wit:
At once invoking, though for different views,
Her gods, her cook, her milliner, and muse.
Round her strew’d room a frippery chaos lies,
A checker’d wreck of notable and wise,
Bills, books, caps, couplets, combs, a varied mass,
Oppress the toilet and obscure the glass;
Unfinish’d here an epigram is laid,
And there a mantua-maker’s bill unpaid.
There new-born plays foretaste the town’s applause,
There dormant patterns pine for future gauze.
A moral essay now is all her care,
A satire next, and then a bill of fare.
A scene she now projects, and now a dish;
Here Act the First, and here Remove with Fish.
Now, while this eye in a fine frenzy rolls,
That soberly casts up a bill for coals;
Black pins and daggers in one leaf she sticks,
And tears, and threads, and bowls, and thimbles mix.
Richard Brinsley Sheridan.
SLY LAWYERS
LO, that small office! there th’ incautious guest
Goes blindfold in, and that maintains the rest;
There in his web th’ observant spider lies,
And peers about for fat, intruding flies;
Doubtful at first, he hears the distant hum,
And feels them flutt’ring as they nearer come;
They buzz and blink, and doubtfully they tread
On the strong birdlime of the utmost thread;
But when they’re once entangled by the gin,
With what an eager clasp he draws them in!
Nor shall they ’scape till after long delay,
And all that sweetens life is drawn away.
George Crabbe.
REPORTERS
FIRST, from each brother’s hoard a part they draw,
A mutual theft that never feared a law;
Whate’er they gain, to each man’s portion fall,
And read it once, you read it through them all.
For this their runners ramble day and night,
To drag each lurking deep to open light;
But that’s of little consequence, if so
You understand that there they had no hens,
Till, by a happy chance, a traveller,
After a while, carried some poultry there.
Fast they increased as anyone could wish,
Until fresh eggs became the common dish.
But all the natives ate them boiled, they say,
Because the stranger taught no other way.
At last th’ experiment by one was tried —
Sagacious man! – of having his eggs fried.
And oh, what boundless honours, for his pains,
His fruitful and inventive fancy gains!
Another, now, to have them baked devised —
Most happy thought! and still another, spiced.
Who ever thought eggs were so delicate!
Next, someone gave his friends an omelette:
“Ah!” all exclaimed, “what an ingenious feat!”
But scarce a year went by, an artist shouts,
“I have it now! ye’re all a pack of louts!
With nice tomatoes all my eggs are stewed.”
And the whole island thought the mode so good,
That they would so have cooked them to this day,
But that a stranger, wandering out that way,
Another dish the gaping natives taught,
And showed them eggs cooked à la Huguenot.
Successive cooks thus proved their skill diverse,
But how shall I be able to rehearse
All of the new, delicious condiments
That luxury from time to time invents?
Soft, hard, and dropped; and now with sugar sweet,
And now boiled up with milk, the eggs they eat;
In sherbet, in preserves; at last they tickle
Their palates fanciful with eggs in pickle.
All had their day – the last was still the best.
But a grave senior thus one day addressed
The epicures: “Boast, ninnies, if you will,
These countless prodigies of gastric skill,
But blessings on the man who brought the hens!”
Beyond the sunny Philippines
Our crowd of modern authors need not go
New-fangled modes of cooking eggs to show.
Tomas Yriarte.
THE LITERARY LADY
WHAT motley cares Corilla’s mind perplex,
Whom maids and metaphors conspire to vex!
In studious dishabille behold her sit,
A letter’d gossip and a household wit:
At once invoking, though for different views,
Her gods, her cook, her milliner, and muse.
Round her strew’d room a frippery chaos lies,
A checker’d wreck of notable and wise,
Bills, books, caps, couplets, combs, a varied mass,
Oppress the toilet and obscure the glass;
Unfinish’d here an epigram is laid,
And there a mantua-maker’s bill unpaid.
There new-born plays foretaste the town’s applause,
There dormant patterns pine for future gauze.
A moral essay now is all her care,
A satire next, and then a bill of fare.
A scene she now projects, and now a dish;
Here Act the First, and here Remove with Fish.
Now, while this eye in a fine frenzy rolls,
That soberly casts up a bill for coals;
Black pins and daggers in one leaf she sticks,
And tears, and threads, and bowls, and thimbles mix.
Richard Brinsley Sheridan.
SLY LAWYERS
LO, that small office! there th’ incautious guest
Goes blindfold in, and that maintains the rest;
There in his web th’ observant spider lies,
And peers about for fat, intruding flies;
Doubtful at first, he hears the distant hum,
And feels them flutt’ring as they nearer come;
They buzz and blink, and doubtfully they tread
On the strong birdlime of the utmost thread;
But when they’re once entangled by the gin,
With what an eager clasp he draws them in!
Nor shall they ’scape till after long delay,
And all that sweetens life is drawn away.
George Crabbe.
REPORTERS
FIRST, from each brother’s hoard a part they draw,
A mutual theft that never feared a law;
Whate’er they gain, to each man’s portion fall,
And read it once, you read it through them all.
For this their runners ramble day and night,
To drag each lurking deep to open light;
Другие электронные книги автора Carolyn Wells
Последний отзыв
Книга дельная. Без воды, приводятся реальные кейсы и способы их разрешения. Много практичных полезных советов и методик. Кое-что уже испробовала в дел...
Далее