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A Satire Anthology
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Год написания книги
2017
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Met the morn as they might. If fine, they rode,
Or walk’d; if foul, they read, or told a tale,
Sung, or rehearsed the last dance from abroad;
Discuss’d the fashion which might next prevail,
And settled bonnets by the newest code;
Or cramm’d twelve sheets into one little letter,
To make each correspondent a new debtor.
For some had absent lovers, all had friends.
The earth has nothing like a she-epistle,
And hardly heaven – because it never ends.
I love the mystery of a female missal,
Which, like a creed, ne’er says all it intends,
But, full of cunning as Ulysses’ whistle
When he allured poor Dolon. You had better
Take care what you reply to such a letter.
Then there were billiards; cards, too, but no dice —
Save in the clubs, no man of honour plays;
Boats when ’twas water, skating when ’twas ice,
And the hard frost destroy’d the scenting days:
And angling, too, that solitary vice,
Whatever Izaak Walton sings or says:
The quaint, old, cruel coxcomb, in his gullet
Should have a hook, and a small trout to pull it.
With evening came the banquet and the wine;
The conversazione; the duet,
Attuned by voices more or less divine
(My heart or head aches with the memory yet).
The four Miss Rawbolds in a glee would shine;
But the two youngest loved more to be set
Down to the harp – because to music’s charms
They added graceful necks, white hands and arms.
Sometime a dance (though rarely on field-days,
For then the gentlemen were rather tired)
Display’d some sylph-like figures in its maze:
Then there was small-talk ready when required;
Flirtation, but decorous; the mere praise
Of charms that should or should not be admired.
The hunters fought their fox-hunt o’er again.
And then retreated soberly – at ten.
The politicians, in a nook apart,
Discuss’d the world, and settled all the spheres:
The wits watch’d every loophole for their art,
To introduce a bon mot, head and ears.
Small is the rest of those who would be smart.
A moment’s good thing may have cost them years
Before they find an hour to introduce it;
And then, even then, some bore may make them lose it.
But all was gentle and aristocratic
In this our party; polish’d, smooth, and cold,
As Phidian forms cut out of marble Attic.
There now are no Squire Westerns, as of old;
And our Sophias are not so emphatic,
But fair as then, or fairer to behold.
We have no accomplish’d blackguards, like Tom Jones,
But gentlemen in stays, as stiff as stones.
They separated at an early hour —
That is, ere midnight, which is London’s noon;
But in the country, ladies seek their bower
A little earlier than the waning moon.
Peace to the slumbers of each folded flower —
May the rose call back its true colour soon!
Good hours of fair cheeks are the fairest tinters,
And lower the price of rouge – at least some winters.
Lord Byron.
GREEDINESS PUNISHED
IT was the cloister Grabow, in the land of Usedom;
For years had God’s free goodness to fill its larder come:
They might have been contented!
Along the shore came swimming, to give the monks good cheer
Who dwelt within the cloister, two fishes every year:
They might have been contented!
Two sturgeons – two great fat ones; and then this law was set,
That one of them should yearly be taken in a net:
They might have been contented!
The other swam away then until next year came round,
Then with a new companion he punctually was found:
They might have been contented!
So then again they caught one, and served him in the dish,
And regularly caught they, year in, year out, a fish:
They might have been contented!
One year, the time appointed two such great fishes brought,
The question was a hard one, which of them should be caught:
They might have been contented!
They caught them both together, but every greedy wight
Or walk’d; if foul, they read, or told a tale,
Sung, or rehearsed the last dance from abroad;
Discuss’d the fashion which might next prevail,
And settled bonnets by the newest code;
Or cramm’d twelve sheets into one little letter,
To make each correspondent a new debtor.
For some had absent lovers, all had friends.
The earth has nothing like a she-epistle,
And hardly heaven – because it never ends.
I love the mystery of a female missal,
Which, like a creed, ne’er says all it intends,
But, full of cunning as Ulysses’ whistle
When he allured poor Dolon. You had better
Take care what you reply to such a letter.
Then there were billiards; cards, too, but no dice —
Save in the clubs, no man of honour plays;
Boats when ’twas water, skating when ’twas ice,
And the hard frost destroy’d the scenting days:
And angling, too, that solitary vice,
Whatever Izaak Walton sings or says:
The quaint, old, cruel coxcomb, in his gullet
Should have a hook, and a small trout to pull it.
With evening came the banquet and the wine;
The conversazione; the duet,
Attuned by voices more or less divine
(My heart or head aches with the memory yet).
The four Miss Rawbolds in a glee would shine;
But the two youngest loved more to be set
Down to the harp – because to music’s charms
They added graceful necks, white hands and arms.
Sometime a dance (though rarely on field-days,
For then the gentlemen were rather tired)
Display’d some sylph-like figures in its maze:
Then there was small-talk ready when required;
Flirtation, but decorous; the mere praise
Of charms that should or should not be admired.
The hunters fought their fox-hunt o’er again.
And then retreated soberly – at ten.
The politicians, in a nook apart,
Discuss’d the world, and settled all the spheres:
The wits watch’d every loophole for their art,
To introduce a bon mot, head and ears.
Small is the rest of those who would be smart.
A moment’s good thing may have cost them years
Before they find an hour to introduce it;
And then, even then, some bore may make them lose it.
But all was gentle and aristocratic
In this our party; polish’d, smooth, and cold,
As Phidian forms cut out of marble Attic.
There now are no Squire Westerns, as of old;
And our Sophias are not so emphatic,
But fair as then, or fairer to behold.
We have no accomplish’d blackguards, like Tom Jones,
But gentlemen in stays, as stiff as stones.
They separated at an early hour —
That is, ere midnight, which is London’s noon;
But in the country, ladies seek their bower
A little earlier than the waning moon.
Peace to the slumbers of each folded flower —
May the rose call back its true colour soon!
Good hours of fair cheeks are the fairest tinters,
And lower the price of rouge – at least some winters.
Lord Byron.
GREEDINESS PUNISHED
IT was the cloister Grabow, in the land of Usedom;
For years had God’s free goodness to fill its larder come:
They might have been contented!
Along the shore came swimming, to give the monks good cheer
Who dwelt within the cloister, two fishes every year:
They might have been contented!
Two sturgeons – two great fat ones; and then this law was set,
That one of them should yearly be taken in a net:
They might have been contented!
The other swam away then until next year came round,
Then with a new companion he punctually was found:
They might have been contented!
So then again they caught one, and served him in the dish,
And regularly caught they, year in, year out, a fish:
They might have been contented!
One year, the time appointed two such great fishes brought,
The question was a hard one, which of them should be caught:
They might have been contented!
They caught them both together, but every greedy wight
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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