University of Virginia Library

AT THE WELL.
Margaret and Lizzy (with pitchers).
Lizzy.
Have you not heard of Hannah's pretty doing?

Margaret.
No, not a word—I've been but little out.

Lizzy.
Kate told it me to-day—there's not a doubt
Of its truth. This comes of airs and impudence:
I always said her pride would be her ruin.

Margaret.
What mean you?

Lizzy.
What I mean all know but you—
Why, when she eats and drinks she's feeding two.

Margaret.
Poor thing!

Lizzy.
Poor thing, indeed! great pity for her;
Why, she was always finding some pretence
To be in company with this adorer
Of hers;—at every party—every walk—
How she made out a time for private talk!
Would hang upon his arm, and still be seen
For evermore with him, at booth or green.
She thought herself so fine, none could come near her;
And then their feastings—cakes and wine must cheer her
After their rambles: then her vanity
About her beauty almost like insanity—
And then her meanness—think of her insisting
Upon his making handsome presents to her—
Then came soft words, when there were none to listen,
Then all a girl can give she gave her wooer!

Margaret.
The poor, poor thing!

Lizzy.
And do you pity her?
When we were kept close to our wheels, and when
Our mothers would not suffer us to stir
Abroad at night, or loiter with the men,
Then were they on the seat before the door,
Or in the dark walk lingering evermore;
Now for the stool and white sheet of repentance;
For one, I feel no sorrow at her sentence.

Margaret.
Poor creature! but, no doubt, he'll marry her.

Lizzy.
He!—he'll be no such fool—the de'il may carry her,
For what he cares—they say that he is off;
He'll find another market soon enough.

Margaret.
That is not fair.

Lizzy.
'Twill be almost as bad,
We will so plague her—if she get the lad;—
The wedding garland, should she think to wear it,
From the mock virgin shall the children tear it;
And, at her door, what fun we shall have, spreading
Chopped straw, to greet the promise of their wedding.

[Exit.
Margaret
(returning home).
How I would rail when some poor girl went wrong!
How, when it was another's sin and shame,
Words of reproach would rise up to my tongue!
Oh, this was then a black offence, and I
Made it in thought more black; no words of blame
This virtuous scorn of mine could satisfy—
Others might fall, but I more proud became,
And I—who thus could feel—am I the same?
But could I—who could—have resisted here?
All was so good!—all was so very dear!