EPIGRAMS.
Reading edition
To a Critic.
Thy foolish criticism On the plays composed by me Wounds not my egotism; But a sore, indeed, ’t would be, Should they be praised by thee.
Leandro Fernandez de Moratin, 1760-1828.
To a Translator of the Æneid.
In bad Spanish great Vergil You dare to asperse. And tell us most closely You follow his verse: If to imitate Maro Is your real intent, Pray will it’s to burn By your last testament.
The mother of young Cupid, Once her baby sleepless lay, Fearful lest the child should perish, Weeping loud in her dismay, Quickly to the gods repair’d. Grave Morpheus took it in his care, Laid it in the bed of Hymen,— In a trice it slumber’d there.
Love, Morpheus, and I Shared a maiden fair; Love took her heart As his due share, And Morpheus liked Her sweet eyes best So I for myself Claimed all the rest.
The Devil tried hard Job’s faith to impair, Loss of property, children, And health he’d to bear, But failing to tempt him To curse his own life, To make him despair He left him his wife.
A Mathematician, García by name. Was thus sadly address’d By the wife of the same: How is’t you acquir’d Such a great reputation And are so behindhand In Multiplication?
Pablo de Jérica.
The Sun-dial.
A sun-dial was made by some natives near Quito, Who thought it so fine (in Spanish “bonito”), They put up a roof to protect it from rain, Saying, “We never shall have such a sun-dial again.” But of use it was none, since the roof hid the sun. And I said in my heart, ’tis a nice counterpart Of good laws for our weal Spoil’d by fools’ silly zeal!
J. E. Hartzenbusch, 1806-1880.