University of Virginia Library

Oh, Dolly, dear Dolly, I'm ruin'd for ever—
I ne'er shall be happy again, Dolly, never!
To think of the wretch—what a victim was I!
'Tis too much to endure—I shall die, I shall die—
My brain's in a fever—my pulses beat quick—
I shall die, or, at least, be exceedingly sick!
Oh, what do you think? after all my romancing,
My visions of glory, my sighing, my glancing,
This Colonel—I scarce can commit it to paper—
This Colonel's no more than a vile linen-draper!!
'Tis true as I live—I had coax'd brother Bob so,
(You'll hardly make out what I'm writing, I sob so,)
For some little gift on my birth-day—September
The thirtieth, dear, I'm eighteen, you remember—
That Bob to a shop kindly order'd the coach,
(Ah, little I thought who the shopman would prove,)
To bespeak me a few of those mouchoirs de poche,
Which, in happier hours, I have sigh'd for, my love—
(The most beautiful things—two Napoleons the price—
And one's name in the corner embroider'd so nice!)
Well, with heart full of pleasure, I enter'd the shop,
But—ye Gods, what a phantom!—I thought I should drop—
There he stood, my dear Dolly—no room for a doubt—
There, behind the vile counter, these eyes saw him stand,
With a piece of French cambric, before him roll'd out,
And that horrid yard-measure uprais'd in his hand!
Oh—Papa, all along, knew the secret, 'tis clear—
'Twas a shopman he meant by a “Brandenburgh,” dear!
The man, whom I fondly had fancied a King,
And, when that too delightful illusion was past,
As a hero had worshipp'd—vile, treacherous thing—
To turn out but a low linen-draper at last!
My head swam around—the wretch smil'd, I believe,
But his smiling, alas, could no longer deceive—
I fell back on Bob—my whole heart seem'd to wither—
And, pale as a ghost, I was carried back hither!
I only remember that Bob, as I caught him,
With cruel facetiousness said, “Curse the Kiddy!
“A staunch Revolutionist always I've thought him,
“But now I find out he's a Counter one, Biddy!”
Only think, my dear creature, if this should be known
To that saucy, satirical thing, Miss Malone!
What a story 'twill be at Shandangan for ever!
What laughs and what quizzing she'll have with the men!
It will spread through the country—and never, oh, never
Can Biddy be seen at Kilrandy again!
Farewell—I shall do something desp'rate, I fear—
And, ah! if my fate ever reaches your ear,
One tear of compassion my Doll will not grudge
To her poor—broken-hearted—young friend,