Sermons he read, and lectures he endured, And homilies, and lives of all the saints; To Jerome and to Chrysostom inured, He did not take such studies for restraints; But how faith is acquired, and then ensured, So well not one of the aforesaid paints As Saint Augustine in his fine Confessions, Which make the reader envy his transgressions. This, too, was a seal’d book to little Juan— I can’t but say that his mamma was right, If such an education was the true one. She scarcely trusted him from out her sight; Her maids were old, and if she took a new one, You might be sure she was a perfect fright; She did this during even her husband’s life— I recommend as much to every wife. Young Juan wax’d in goodliness and grace; At six a charming child, and at eleven With all the promise of as fine a face As e’er to man’s maturer growth was given: He studied steadily, and grew apace, And seem’d, at least, in the right road to heaven, For half his days were pass’d at church, the other Between his tutors, confessor, and mother. At six, I said, he was a charming child, At twelve he was a fine, but quiet boy; Although in infancy a little wild, They tamed him down amongst them: to destroy His natural spirit not in vain they toil’d, At least it seem’d so; and his mother’s joy Was to declare how sage, and still, and steady, Her young philosopher was grown already. I had my doubts, perhaps I have them still, But what I say is neither here nor there: I knew his father well, and have some skill In character—but it would not be fair From sire to son to augur good or ill: He and his wife were an ill-sorted pair— But scandal ’s my aversion—I protest Against all evil speaking, even in jest. For my part I say nothing—nothing—but This I will say—my reasons are my own— That if I had an only son to put To school (as God be praised that I have none), ’Tis not with Donna Inez I would shut Him up to learn his catechism alone, No—no—I’d send him out betimes to college, For there it was I pick’d up my own knowledge. For there one learns—’tis not for me to boast, Though I acquired—but I pass over that, As well as all the Greek I since have lost: I say that there’s the place—but ‘Verbum sat.’ I think I pick’d up too, as well as most, Knowledge of matters—but no matter what— I never married—but, I think, I know That sons should not be educated so. Young Juan now was sixteen years of age, Tall, handsome, slender, but well knit: he seem’d Active, though not so sprightly, as a page; And everybody but his mother deem’d Him almost man; but she flew in a rage And bit her lips (for else she might have scream’d) If any said so, for to be precocious Was in her eyes a thing the most atrocious.