Modern Poets and Poetry of Spain/Satirical Letrillias IV

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SATIRICAL LETRILLIAS.—IV.

Whene'er Don Juan has a feast at home,[1]
I am forgotten as if at Rome;
But he will for funerals me invite,
To kill me with the annoyance quite:
Well, so be it!

Celeste, with thousand coy excuses,
Will sing the song that set she chooses,
And all about that her environ,
Though like an owl, call her a Siren:
Well, so be it!

A hundred bees, without reposing,
Work their sweet combs, with skill enclosing;
Alas! for an idle drone they strive,
Who soon will come to devour the hive:
Well, so be it!

Man to his like moves furious war,
As if were not too numerous far
Alone the medical squadrons straight
The world itself to depopulate!
Well, so be it!

There are of usurers heaps in Spain,
Of catchpoles, hucksterers, heaps again,
And of vintners too, yet people still
Are talking of robbers on the hill:
Well, so be it!

In vain may the poor, O Conde! try
Thy door, for the dog makes sole reply;
And yet to spend thou hast extollers,
Over a ball two thousand dollars:
Well, so be it!

Enough today, my pen, this preaching;
A better time we wait for teaching:
If vices in vain I try to brand,
And find I only write upon sand,
Well, so be it!


  1. Siempre que tiene una broma
    El señor don Juan me olvida
    Como si estuviera en Roma;
    Y à un entierro me convida
    Para matarme de pena!
    Sea enhorabuena.

    Despues de melindres rail
    Canta Celestina el duo
    Que le han puesto en atril,
    Y aunque canta como un buho
    Todos la llaman Sirena.
    Sea enhorabuena.

    Cien abejas sin reposo
    Labrando à porfía estàn
    El dulce panal sabroso.
    Ay! que un zàngano holgazàn
    Se ha de tragar la colmena!
    Sea enhorabuena.

    El hombre à su semejante
    Mueve guerra furibundo,
    Cual si no fuera bastante
    Para despoblar el mundo
    El escuadron de Avicena.
    Sea enhorabuena.

    Hay en España usureros
    Hay esbirros à montones,
    Y chalanes y venteros,
    Y dicen que los ladrones
    Estan en Sierra Morena!
    Sea enhorabuena.

    En vano à tu puerta, Conde,
    Llegan los pobres desnudos,
    Que el perro solo responde,
    Y gastas dos mil escudos
    En un baile y una cena!
    Sea enhorabuena.

    Basta por hoy de sermon.
    Aqui mi pluma suspendo
    Hasta mejor ocasion.
    Si el vicio en vano reprendo
    Y escribo sobre la arena,
    Sea enhorabuena.

    The selections from Breton de los Herreros are taken from the edition of 1831, at pages 61, 63 and 71 respectively.