 | The Triangular Society |  |
240
HER ANSWER.
“I think I have heard you rightly,
And this way the matter stands;
You aim to become my master,
As you are of your gold and lands—
You wish me to fawn and follow,
And serve you with fettered hands—
And this way the matter stands;
You aim to become my master,
As you are of your gold and lands—
You wish me to fawn and follow,
And serve you with fettered hands—
“To flaunt in your flimsy finery,
To starve in your hollow state—
To enter a life of falsehood
Through a false and lying gate—
To dwarf my heart for diamonds,
And peril my soul for plate.
To starve in your hollow state—
To enter a life of falsehood
Through a false and lying gate—
To dwarf my heart for diamonds,
And peril my soul for plate.
“A modest and generous offer,
Which only a man could make!
So this is the burden of duties
You wish me to stoop and take?
Nor fear that my strength might falter,
Nor dread that my heart might break?
Which only a man could make!
So this is the burden of duties
You wish me to stoop and take?
Nor fear that my strength might falter,
Nor dread that my heart might break?
“Your wife! it were too much honor!
Pray, what is your wife to be?
The slave of your whim and bounty,
The pet of your luxury—
A careful, obsequious servant—
Is the picture at all like me?
Pray, what is your wife to be?
The slave of your whim and bounty,
The pet of your luxury—
A careful, obsequious servant—
Is the picture at all like me?
“I know how you reckoned your chances—
Your wooing has shown me that—
‘She is poor—I will make her wealthy’—
Oh, joy to be wondered at!
But you are a monstrous camel,
While poverty 's only a gnat!
Your wooing has shown me that—
‘She is poor—I will make her wealthy’—
Oh, joy to be wondered at!
But you are a monstrous camel,
While poverty 's only a gnat!
241
“If women are only insects—
Poor, insignificant things,—
I am not a cricket, that always
By the fire-place sits and sings,
But a chrysalis, unexpanded,
Impatient for promised wings.
Poor, insignificant things,—
I am not a cricket, that always
By the fire-place sits and sings,
But a chrysalis, unexpanded,
Impatient for promised wings.
“There are various minor trifles
Not even your gold can gain—
You cannot imprison the sunlight,
You cannot compel the rain—
And I am more wilful than either—
You flatter and sue in vain!
Not even your gold can gain—
You cannot imprison the sunlight,
You cannot compel the rain—
And I am more wilful than either—
You flatter and sue in vain!
“Away with your gilded fetters—
They rattle, although they shine—
The goblet of bliss you offer,
Smacks strongly of poisoned wine;
Your ring is too small for my finger,
Your life is too narrow for mine!”
They rattle, although they shine—
The goblet of bliss you offer,
Smacks strongly of poisoned wine;
Your ring is too small for my finger,
Your life is too narrow for mine!”
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