Tales and Novels of J. de La Fontaine — Complete. Jean de la Fontaine. Читать онлайн. Newlib. NEWLIB.NET

Автор: Jean de la Fontaine
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Жанр произведения: Языкознание
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isbn: 4057664648785
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      Your scheme in full, and round my own I tied

      A clue, on which I thoroughly relied,

      To catch this gay gallant, that you pretend

      Your husband will become, I apprehend.

      Be that as 'twill, to-night from hence you go.

      My dear, said Berlinguier, I'd fain say no;

      Let things remain until to-morrow, pray

      And then my lady presently gave way.

      A fortune Harry on the girl bestow'd;

      The like our valet to his master ow'd;

      To church the happy couple smiling went:—

      They'd known each other long, and were content.

      THUS ended then, the third and last amour;

      The trio hasten'd Macae to implore,

      To say which gain'd the bet, who soon replied:—

      I find it, friends, not easy to decide.

      THE case hangs up, and there will long remain;

      'Tis often thus when justice we'd obtain:

       Table of Contents

0122m

      Original

      OFT have I seen in wedlock with surprise,

      That most forgot from which true bliss would rise

      When marriage for a daughter is designed,

      The parents solely riches seem to mind;

      All other boons are left to heav'n above,

      And sweet SIXTEEN must SIXTY learn to love!

      Yet still in other things they nicer seem,

      Their chariot-horses and their oxen-team

      Are truly matched;—in height exact are these,

      While those each shade alike must have to please;

      Without the choice 'twere wonderful to find,

      Or coach or wagon travel to their mind.

      The marriage journey full of cares appears,

      When couples match in neither souls nor years!

      An instance of the kind I'll now detail:

      The feeling bosom will such lots bewail!

      QUINZICA, (Richard), as the story goes,

      Indulged his wife at balls, and feasts, and shows,

      Expecting other duties she'd forget,

      In which howe'er he disappointment met.

      A judge in Pisa, Richard was, it seems,

      In law most learned: wily in his schemes;

      But silver beard and locks too clearly told,

      He ought to have a wife of diff'rent mould;

      Though he had taken one of noble birth,

      Quite young, most beautiful, and formed for mirth,

      Bartholomea Galandi her name;

      The lady's parents were of rank and fame;

      Our JUDGE herein had little wisdom shown,

      And sneering friends around were often known

      To say, his children ne'er could fathers lack:

      At giving counsel some have got a knack,

      Who, were they but at home to turn their eyes,

      Might find, perhaps, they're not so over-wise.

      QUINZICA, then perceiving that his pow'rs

      Fell short of what a bird like his devours,

      T'excuse himself and satisfy his dear,

      Pretended that, no day within the year,

      To Hymen, as a saint, was e'er assigned,

      In calendar, or book of any kind,

      When full ATTENTION to the god was paid:—

      To aged sires a nice convenient aid;

      But this the sex by no means fancy right;

      Few days to PLEASURE could his heart invite

      At times, the week entire he'd have a fast;

      At others, say the day 'mong saints was classed,

      Though no one ever heard its holy name;—

      FAST ev'ry Friday—Saturday the same,

      Since Sunday followed, consecrated day;

      Then Monday came:—still he'd abstain from play;

      Each morning find excuse, but solemn feasts

      Were days most sacred held by all the priests;

      On abstinence, then, Richard lectures read,

      And long before the time, was always led

      By sense of right, from dainties to refrain:

      A period afterward would also gain;

      The like observed before and after Lent;

      And ev'ry feast had got the same extent;

      These times were gracious for our aged man;

      And never pass them was his constant plan.

      OF patron saints he always had a list;

      Th' evangelists, apostles, none he miss'd;

      And that his scruples might have constant food;

      Some days malign, he said, were understood;

      Then foggy weather;—dog-days' fervent heat:

      To seek excuses he was most complete,

      And ne'er asham'd but manag'd things so well,

      Four times a year, by special grace, they tell,

      Our sage regal'd his youthful blooming wife,

      A little with the sweets of marriage life.

      WITH this exception he was truly kind,

      Fine dresses, jewels, all to please her mind;

      But these are bawbles which alone controul

      Those belles, like dolls, mere bodies void of soul.

      Bartholomea was of diff'rent clay;

      Her only pleasure (as our hist'ries say),

      To go in summer to the neighb'ring coast,

      Where her good spouse a charming house could boast,

      In which they took their lodging once a week;

      At times