Poems by the late Hon. William R. Spencer :: :: University of Virginia Library

Ods rocks and cascades! (God forgive me for swearing),
I vow, sister Tanny, your conduct's past bearing;
You know very well that this curs'd expedition
Would ne'er have been thought of without my permission:
You prest, and you plagued, till I gave you my leave,
Billy's friends, and himself, for two days to receive:
Now, time after time, new excuses you seek,
And keep the whole party away for a week!
In truth, sister Tan, you'll allow me to state
That you're grown rather proud and conceited of late;
Come, do yourself justice, indeed you must see
'Tis nonsense to vie in attraction with me;

216

I talk not of friendship and sisterly love,
No sorrows of mine can your sympathy move;
I know that my griefs not a pang can impart
To a nature so cold, and so stony a heart;
To your reason I plead, for (I hope no offence)
Such frights as yourself should have very good sense.
Believe me, your airs will derision provoke,
To respect you's a duty, to love you's a joke;
In vain you give out with an insolent swagger,
That you are an heiress, and I am a beggar.
What little I have is from bankruptcy free,
Your wealth, like a merchant's, depends on the sea;
My lands, as I've heard from surveyors of taste,
Are improv'd by the storm by which your's are laid waste.
In vain, against me, winds and winter combine,
What ruins your prospects, embellishes mine!
As to persons, you know that the difference is clear,
For to tell you the truth, you're a monster, my dear;
And still you would tempt the lov'd youth from my arms,
With your barebone attractions and skeleton charms!
For me, I'm not vain, but the world has declar'd
That no beauty on earth can with mine be compar'd.

217

You scarce can look bearable, dizen'd and deck'd;
I please in disorder, and charm in neglect;
Whilst from art you receive the few gifts you possess,
My toilette is nature's enchanting undress;
And when, sister Tan, in your train shall we meet
All the gods and the elves that attend in my suite?
Can such fair vision-shapes on your bog-turf be seen,
As glide in my forests and sport on my green?
Your genius is humpy, decrepid, and hagged,
Your Naiads are muddy, your Oreads are ragged;
Mature are the wood-nymphs who people my lawn,
And high wave their arms to the breeze of the dawn;
Whilst you to a nursery drag us, to see
Some poor baby Dryads as high as my knee!
In the place of Dianas, and Fairies, and Peris,
You shew us (oh fie!) that old workwoman, Ceres!
Whilst, proud to my rock-fretted realms to belong,
The torrent-king thunders my vallies along;
Your godling aquatic just makes a deposit
Sufficient to water a mill or a closet.
But who is this man with a visage so deathly?
'Tis—I must end, to hear news from Dollgethly;
So I hope you're not vex'd with my candour, dear Tan,
But send back my William as fast as you can;
And prithee give up this extravagant folly,
For Tanny can ne'er be the rival of Dolly!

Alluding to the great embankment at Tanny-ralt-issa, now called Tre-Madock.