3 books to know Juvenalian Satire. Lord Byron

each other, not divorced, but dead;

      They lived respectably as man and wife,

      Their conduct was exceedingly well-bred,

      And gave no outward signs of inward strife,

      Until at length the smother'd fire broke out,

      And put the business past all kind of doubt.

      For Inez call'd some druggists and physicians,

      And tried to prove her loving lord was mad;

      But as he had some lucid intermissions,

      She next decided he was only bad;

      Yet when they ask'd her for her depositions,

      No sort of explanation could be had,

      Save that her duty both to man and God

      Required this conduct—which seem'd very odd.

      She kept a journal, where his faults were noted,

      And open'd certain trunks of books and letters,

      All which might, if occasion served, be quoted;

      And then she had all Seville for abettors,

      Besides her good old grandmother (who doted);

      The hearers of her case became repeaters,

      Then advocates, inquisitors, and judges,

      Some for amusement, others for old grudges.

      And then this best and weakest woman bore

      With such serenity her husband's woes,

      Just as the Spartan ladies did of yore,

      Who saw their spouses kill'd, and nobly chose

      Never to say a word about them more—

      Calmly she heard each calumny that rose,

      And saw his agonies with such sublimity,

      That all the world exclaim'd, 'What magnanimity!'

      No doubt this patience, when the world is damning us,

      Is philosophic in our former friends;

      'T is also pleasant to be deem'd magnanimous,

      The more so in obtaining our own ends;

      And what the lawyers call a 'malus animus'

      Conduct like this by no means comprehends;

      Revenge in person 's certainly no virtue,

      But then 't is not my fault, if others hurt you.

      And if your quarrels should rip up old stories,

      And help them with a lie or two additional,

      I 'm not to blame, as you well know—no more is

      Any one else—they were become traditional;

      Besides, their resurrection aids our glories

      By contrast, which is what we just were wishing all:

      And science profits by this resurrection—

      Dead scandals form good subjects for dissection.

      Their friends had tried at reconciliation,

      Then their relations, who made matters worse.

      ('T were hard to tell upon a like occasion

      To whom it may be best to have recourse—

      I can't say much for friend or yet relation):

      The lawyers did their utmost for divorce,

      But scarce a fee was paid on either side

      Before, unluckily, Don Jose died.

      He died: and most unluckily, because,

      According to all hints I could collect

      From counsel learned in those kinds of laws

      (Although their talk 's obscure and circumspect),

      His death contrived to spoil a charming cause;

      A thousand pities also with respect

      To public feeling, which on this occasion

      Was manifested in a great sensation.

      But, ah! he died; and buried with him lay

      The public feeling and the lawyers' fees:

      His house was sold, his servants sent away,

      A Jew took one of his two mistresses,

      A priest the other—at least so they say:

      I ask'd the doctors after his disease—

      He died of the slow fever call'd the tertian,

      And left his widow to her own aversion.

      Yet Jose was an honourable man,

      That I must say who knew him very well;

      Therefore his frailties I 'll no further scan

      Indeed there were not many more to tell;

      And if his passions now and then outran

      Discretion, and were not so peaceable

      As Numa's (who was also named Pompilius),

      He had been ill brought up, and was born bilious.

      Whate'er might be his worthlessness or worth,

      Poor fellow! he had many things to wound him.

      Let 's own—since it can do no good on earth—

      It was a trying moment that which found him

      Standing alone beside his desolate hearth,

      Where all his household gods lay shiver'd round him:

      No choice was left his feelings or his pride,

      Save death or Doctors' Commons—so he died.

      Dying intestate, Juan was sole heir

      To a chancery suit, and messuages, and lands,

      Which, with a long minority and care,

      Promised to turn out well in proper hands:

      Inez became sole guardian, which was fair,

      And answer'd but to nature's just demands;

      An only son left with an only mother

      Is brought up much more wisely than another.

      Sagest of women, even of widows, she

      Resolved that Juan should be quite a paragon,

      And worthy of the noblest pedigree

      (His sire was of Castile, his dam from Aragon):

      Then for accomplishments of chivalry,

      In case our lord the king should go to war again,

      He learn'd the arts of riding, fencing, gunnery,

      And how to scale a fortress—or a nunnery.

      But that which Donna Inez most desired,

      And saw into herself each day before all

      The learned tutors whom for him she hired,

      Was, that his breeding should be strictly moral;

      Much into all his studies she inquired,

      And so they were submitted first to her, all,

      Arts, sciences, no