 | A present for young ladies |  |
DIALOGUE.
SPOKEN BY TWO YOUNG LADIES.
Harriet.So Mary! my Father has sent for us home,
I wish to my heart that I never had come,
Only three weeks in Boston, and hurried away,
I've not been to a ball, and I've seen but one play.
Mary.
Well Harriet you know when my father consented,
You promised to be with one fortnight contented,
It seems a great while.
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To you child it may,
But to me it appears little more than a day.
So many sweet parties to which we're invited;
And you know at the play we were both so delighted,
Even you must confess, if the truth you would speak,
You would like to go there ev'ry night in the week.
Mary.
Indeed, I should not, I was pleas'd I confess,
It was something so novel, the actors, their dress
The house, and the music, together combin'd,
Must forcibly strike on an uninformed mind.
Harriet.
Oh dear! 'twas delightful, drums, trumpets and firing;
And who could forbear the brave lady admiring.
Well I thought I should die, when the soldier was bid,
To fire at the cask where Tekeli was hid.
And when he was fix'd on the old miller's back,
They thrust the sharp bayonet into the sack.
I wanted to scream.—Then some are so witty,
The men are so droll, and the ladies so pretty,
I cannot go home.
Mary.
Nay Harriet you must;
And when once safe at home you'll be happy I trust
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Be happy! Oh yes—we must rise with the sun,
Eat breakfast most gravely, and when that is done
Look into the kitchen see what's doing there,
Some custards, a pie, or a pudding prepare:
See the china and glass are all in their places,
Make a cap for mamma, or wash up her fine laces,
Or else in the parlour stuck up at my work,
Why Mary 'tis leading the life of a Turk,
Who is chain'd to the oar.
Mary.
Nay surely my dear,
We have neighbours who visit us—
Harriet.
once in a year
Prink'd out in their best, stuck all in a row,
Quite round our great parlour, they make a fine show.
One in a half whisper, to her who sits next,
Complains how she's cheated tormented and vext,
The help are so dirty, so wasteful, so lazy,
Dear ma'm how are yours? mine drive me quite crazy.
Then the misses all get in a corner together,
First talk of the walking, the riding, the weather;
Of a cap, of a shoe-bow, a bonnet or feather;
Of some miss who is vulgar, or one who is sly,
Then titter and giggle, they cannot tell why.
Mary.
Dear Harriet, your satire though keen, is quite rude,
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My sister forgets, how sometimes of an eve,
A well chosen book, may the moments deceive.
Harriet.
A book! yes, I see us all just after tea,
“Harriet, sweep up the hearth,” says my father to me;
“And Mary my darling go up to my room,
And bring down a volume of Rapin or Hume.
Our Harriet shall read.” And then hapless I
Must drag through long chapters so tedious and dry,
About those who made kings, and those who dethron'd them,
And pilfer'd the sceptres from those who once own'd them.
What is all this to me? I'm sure I don't care,
Who is king, or who queen, who at peace, or at war.
Mary.
Of war my dear sister we know but the name,
Heaven grant we may never be wrapp'd in its flame;
Be my dear native land ever safe from all foes,
Nor Europe's dread tyrant disturb its repose.
Harriet.
Well rail at this tyrant as much as you can,
I think Bonaparte is a brave little man;
So powerful, politic, hardy and bold,
He reminds me of some mighty giant of old.
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And kings turn to mushrooms, and mushrooms to kings.
Mary.
May the wand that's so potent be 'reft of its pow'r,
E'er it touches the verge of America's shore;
And the power to wield it be snatch'd from his hand
E'er such fungus should spring on my dear native land.
Harriet.
Well said dear miss Graveairs! but now for my part
I envy Louisa the prize of his heart.
Mary.
The prize! oh my sister! the fates she should thank
Had she missed it. Poor girl! she will find it a blank,
Nay worse than a blank, for each column is soil'd,
Till the fair page of nature is totally spoil'd.
Harriet.
'Tis easy to say you would not be his bride,
That virtue is spotless which never was tried;
I'm afraid had the offer been mine I had borne
The weight of a crown, though 'twas lin'd with a thorn.
Mary.
The thorn had pierced deeply, thy confidence shaken.
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Thou once wert an empress.—Thou once had his heart,
And Louisa may one day be, what thou now art.
Harriet.
No not if she's wise, she'll exert her best pow'rs
To humble this giant, and pay off old scores.
Were I in her place—
Mary.
Dear sister no more,
Here, Thomas is waiting, the chaise at the door:
Then come dearest Harriet, our parents expect;
Shall we treat those dear parents with slight and neglect?
Our neighbours are waiting to hail our return,
Whose bosoms with friendly sincerity burn.
Harriet.
I cannot, I will not go home.
Mary.
Well then stay:
Enjoy the gay scene that will last but a day;
Think pleasure will wait you wherever you go,
When sickness or sorrow approaches you'll know
No hand like a mother's can bind the pain'd head,
No hand like a sister's can smooth the sick bed;
No voice like a mother's can calm the sad heart,
No power like a father's protection impart;
No friend like your Mary. Now Harriet adieu.
[going
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(catching her hand.)
Stay Mary—my sister—oh let me go too.
I ask for no pleasure that home cannot give,
I wish but beloved by my parents to live,
I ask for no crown but the praise of my friends.
Mary.
Then here my dear sister our short dispute ends,
We'll be virtuous and useful, be kind and humane.
Harriet.
And when I desire to leave home again
May I marry a Bonaparte—
Mary.
Nay that's too hard.
Harriet.
Then worse my dear girl, may I lose your regard.
Mary.
Now then we're agreed, that wherever we roam,
To be happy for life, we must seek it at home.
| A present for young ladies | |