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A Satire Anthology
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Год написания книги
2017
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Just spoiled his stomach by it; it served the gluttons right:
They might have been contented!
This was the least of sorrows: hear how the cup ran o’er!
Henceforward to the cloister no fish came swimming more:
They might have been contented!
So long had God supplied them of his free grace alone,
That now it is denied them, the fault is all their own:
They might have been contented!
Friedrich Rückert.
WOMAN
ALL honour to woman, the sweetheart, the wife,
The delight of our firesides by night and by day,
Who never does anything wrong in her life,
Except when permitted to have her own way.
Fitz-Greene Halleck.
THE RICH AND THE POOR MAN
SO goes the world. If wealthy, you may call
This friend, that brother – friends and brothers all;
Though you are worthless, witless, never mind it;
You may have been a stable-boy – what then?
’Tis wealth, good sir, makes honourable men.
You seek respect, no doubt, and you will find it.
But if you’re poor, Heaven help you! Though your sire
Had royal blood within him, and though you
Possess the intellect of angels, too,
’Tis all in vain; the world will ne’er inquire
On such a score. Why should it take the pains?
’Tis easier to weigh purses, sure, than brains.
I once saw a poor devil, keen and clever,
Witty and wise; he paid a man a visit,
And no one noticed him, and no one ever
Gave him a welcome. “Strange,” cried I, “whence it is so!”
He walked on this side, then on that,
He tried to introduce a social chat;
Now here, now there, in vain he tried;
Some formally and freezingly replied, and some
Said by their silence, “Better stay at home.”
A rich man burst the door —
As Crœsus rich, I’m sure;
He could not pride himself upon his wit
Nor wisdom, for he had not got a bit:
He had what’s better – he had wealth.
What a confusion! All stand up erect!
These crowd around to ask him of his health;
These bow in honest duty and respect;
And these arrange a sofa or a chair,
And these conduct him there.
“Allow me, sir, the honour;” then a bow
Down to the earth. Is’t possible to show
Meet gratitude for such kind condescension?
The poor man hung his head,
And to himself he said,
“This is indeed beyond my comprehension.”
Then looking round,
One friendly face he found,
And said, “Pray tell me, why is wealth preferred
To wisdom?” “That’s a silly question, friend,”
Replied the other; “have you never heard,
A man may lend his store
Of gold or silver ore,
But wisdom none can borrow, none can lend?”
Sir John Bowring.
(From the Russian of Kremnitzer.)
OZYMANDIAS
I MET a traveller from an antique land,
Who said: “Two vast and trunkless legs of stone
Stand in the desert. Near them, on the sand,
Half sunk, a shattered visage lies, whose frown,
And wrinkled lip, and sneer of cold command,
Tell that its sculptor well those passions read
Which yet survive, stamped on these lifeless things,
The hand that mocked them and the heart that fed.
And on the pedestal these words appear:
‘My name is Ozymandias, king of kings:
Look on my works, ye mighty, and despair!’
Nothing besides remains. Round the decay
Of that colossal wreck, boundless and bare
The lone and level sands stretch far away.”
Percy Bysshe Shelley.
CUI BONO?
WHAT is hope? A smiling rainbow
Children follow through the wet.
’Tis not here – still yonder, yonder;
Never urchin found it yet.
They might have been contented!
This was the least of sorrows: hear how the cup ran o’er!
Henceforward to the cloister no fish came swimming more:
They might have been contented!
So long had God supplied them of his free grace alone,
That now it is denied them, the fault is all their own:
They might have been contented!
Friedrich Rückert.
WOMAN
ALL honour to woman, the sweetheart, the wife,
The delight of our firesides by night and by day,
Who never does anything wrong in her life,
Except when permitted to have her own way.
Fitz-Greene Halleck.
THE RICH AND THE POOR MAN
SO goes the world. If wealthy, you may call
This friend, that brother – friends and brothers all;
Though you are worthless, witless, never mind it;
You may have been a stable-boy – what then?
’Tis wealth, good sir, makes honourable men.
You seek respect, no doubt, and you will find it.
But if you’re poor, Heaven help you! Though your sire
Had royal blood within him, and though you
Possess the intellect of angels, too,
’Tis all in vain; the world will ne’er inquire
On such a score. Why should it take the pains?
’Tis easier to weigh purses, sure, than brains.
I once saw a poor devil, keen and clever,
Witty and wise; he paid a man a visit,
And no one noticed him, and no one ever
Gave him a welcome. “Strange,” cried I, “whence it is so!”
He walked on this side, then on that,
He tried to introduce a social chat;
Now here, now there, in vain he tried;
Some formally and freezingly replied, and some
Said by their silence, “Better stay at home.”
A rich man burst the door —
As Crœsus rich, I’m sure;
He could not pride himself upon his wit
Nor wisdom, for he had not got a bit:
He had what’s better – he had wealth.
What a confusion! All stand up erect!
These crowd around to ask him of his health;
These bow in honest duty and respect;
And these arrange a sofa or a chair,
And these conduct him there.
“Allow me, sir, the honour;” then a bow
Down to the earth. Is’t possible to show
Meet gratitude for such kind condescension?
The poor man hung his head,
And to himself he said,
“This is indeed beyond my comprehension.”
Then looking round,
One friendly face he found,
And said, “Pray tell me, why is wealth preferred
To wisdom?” “That’s a silly question, friend,”
Replied the other; “have you never heard,
A man may lend his store
Of gold or silver ore,
But wisdom none can borrow, none can lend?”
Sir John Bowring.
(From the Russian of Kremnitzer.)
OZYMANDIAS
I MET a traveller from an antique land,
Who said: “Two vast and trunkless legs of stone
Stand in the desert. Near them, on the sand,
Half sunk, a shattered visage lies, whose frown,
And wrinkled lip, and sneer of cold command,
Tell that its sculptor well those passions read
Which yet survive, stamped on these lifeless things,
The hand that mocked them and the heart that fed.
And on the pedestal these words appear:
‘My name is Ozymandias, king of kings:
Look on my works, ye mighty, and despair!’
Nothing besides remains. Round the decay
Of that colossal wreck, boundless and bare
The lone and level sands stretch far away.”
Percy Bysshe Shelley.
CUI BONO?
WHAT is hope? A smiling rainbow
Children follow through the wet.
’Tis not here – still yonder, yonder;
Never urchin found it yet.
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