University of Virginia Library

DIALOGUE.

FOR TWO YOUNG LADIES.

Lucy.
DEAR sister, good morning, I'm glad we are met,
But pray what's the matter? you seem in a fret;
Is your task yet unlearn'd, and our governess vex'd?
Is our mother offended?

Maria.
Dear, no, I'm perplex'd;
You know that next Wednesday Miss Gay gives a ball.

Lucy.
Well, we both are invited—

Maria.
But that is not all;
For I heard brother Tom tell mamma he would go,
On Wednesday with us to the play. Now you know
We cannot go to both; and it is so tormenting,
Because for the ball I had just been inventing
The sweetest new dress. But la! you don't mind,
I vow I believe you are deaf, dumb, and blind.

Lucy.
Deaf! no, my dear sister, I never need fear
My auricular sense should be lost when you're near;
But why thus torment yourself? Though I must own,
I dearly love dancing, and hop'd to have gone;
Yet I cheerfully could, should our mother desire,
Pass the evening with her by our own parlour fire;
And though fond of the theatre, yet I protest
Should I ne'er go again, it would not break my rest;
Abroad for true pleasure I never should roam—

Maria.
Dear, dear! I've no patience! stay always at home?
You may if you please, but so will not I;
It would mope me to death, I should certainly die.
And pray what would signify all my fine clothes?
I must lay them in lavender, child, I suppose;
A calico wrapper would certainly do
To stay prosing at home with my mother and you;
And then for amusement; perhaps we may drone
Over Gregory's letters, or Madam Chapone;
Or read about Solon, Lycurgus, Cassander,
Old Numa Pompilius, or mad Alexander.
No amusement in such stupid books can I see,
What's Solon or Numa Pompilius to me?
Were I to read much of such stuff it would craze me,
I hate such nonsensical trash.—

Lucy.
You amaze me.
Dear sister, forgive me, indeed you're to blame
So lightly to mention our dear mother's name;
So truly indulgent, I'm sure that from you
Submission and grateful affection is is due;
I feel that our debt to her care is so large,
A whole life of duty would scarcely discharge.
Did we e'er make a wish but was instantly granted?

Maria.
Yes; 'twas but last Monday, you know, when I wanted
A white satin slip, that she flatly refus'd me;
And you too, oh dear! how I could have abus'd ye,
To say our white lutestrings were yet very good,
You would not have another forsooth if you could.
It was cross to refuse me, papa can afford it,
What else can he do with his money, but hoard it.
He's rich enough—

Lucy.
Sister, I cannot endure
To hear you talk thus; though our father's not poor,
In youth 'twas his frugal industrious care,
Made him now have enough, and a little to spare.
Then pray, my dear sister, reflect ere too late,
Had he then been profuse, what had now been our fate?
And say should misfortune, for who is secure,
Deprive our dear parents of wealth, leave them poor;
Should the ocean a part of his property swallow,
And by fraud, or by fire, all the rest soon should follow.
Say, sister, could we by our industry earn
Subsistence for them, and thus partly return
Their unbounded kindness to us; could we toil
From morning till night, and yet come with a smile
To wait on their persons, their meals to prepare;
And between us a servant's employments to share;
Say could we do this?

Maria.
Do stop and take breath;
Why sister! you frighten me almost to death.
I work like a servant, sweep rooms, make the beds;
Or patch the old clothes that are dropping to shreds?
No sister, no! no! you may do as you please,
But I don't think that you could descend with such ease;
You would feel some repugnance.

Lucy.
Indeed that is true,
I should feel for our parents, myself, and for you;
Yes sister, for you; when I heard you lament,
The time and the money you idly had spent.

Maria.
But child this can't happen; supposing it may,
I'm resolv'd I will never meet sorrow half way.
Why youth is the season for frolic and play,
Let to-morrow bring care I'll be happy to-day.
And as to that meagre old ill looking dame,
Whose garments scarce cover her skeleton frame.
Madam POVERTY, pray don't bring her to my view,
With her thin purple lips; her nose pinch'd, and so blue!
I'm sure should she come our dear parents a nigh.
Tho' I never could work, I do think I should die.

Lucy.
As you represent it, 'tis shocking indeed;
Attend, and the phantom shall quickly recede.
I know of a neat little tight finger'd dame;
In close cap and stuff gown, and INDUSTRY her name,
Her constant attendant FRUGALITY stands,
And CHEERFULNESS forwards the work of her hands;
Whoever she visits, of care she'll beguile,
And make e'en the children of poverty smile;
She brings what can never be purchas'd by wealth,
The glow of content, and the roses of health.
And believe me, dear sister, though we are so blest,
And not to have poverty, unwelcome guest,
Intrude on our dwelling, we both have a part
In the drama of life, and require some art
To act that part well.

Maria.
Ah! sister, I find
Your sentiments just, though I thought them unkind
Direct me, assist me, my sister, my friend,
To find out each error, correct and amend;
I'll strive to be better, still following you,
And keeping your brilliant example in view.

Lucy.
Nay, do not distress me, dear girl, you have merit
Superior to mine; but your volatile spirit,
Pursuing gay trifles in every direction,
Deprives you of time for more solid reflection.

Maria.
Well then from this moment indeed you shall find,
I'll think less of my person and more of my mind.

Lucy.
Together we'll study the peace of our mother.

Maria.
And daily correct, and improve one another.

Lucy.
And what from superfluous dress we can spare—

Maria.
The poor and the widow and orphan shall share
We need not work much?

Lucy.
For ourselves, no, I grant it;
But we may do a little for those who may want it.
Then when one is idle, the other may hint her,
How many poor children want clothing for winter.
We'll go out but little—

Maria.
No, that's a fix'd plan.

Lucy.
And study?

Maria.
Yes, study as much as I can.

Lucy.
To make much of to-day we will constantly strive,
For we know that to-morrow may never arrive.