An Answer to a Lady, Who Advised Lady Montagu to Retire
- by Lady Mary Wortley Montagu54
You little know the heart that you advise: I view this various scene with equal eyes; In crowded courts I find myself alone, And pay my worship to a nobler throne. Long since the value of this world I know; Pitied the folly, and despis'd the show; Well as I can, my tedious part I bear, And wait dismissal without pain or fear. Seldom I mark mankind's detested ways, Not hearing censure or affecting praise; And unconcern'd my future fate I trust To that sole Being, merciful and just!
Ballad, on a Late Occurrence
- by Lady Mary Wortley Montagu42
Ungodly papers ev'ry week Poor simple souls persuade That courtiers good for nothing are, Or but for mischief made. But I who know their worthy hearts, Pronounce that we are blind, Who disappoint their honest schemes, Who would be just and kind. For in this vile degen'rate age 'Tis dangerous to do good; Which will, when I have told my tale, Be better understood. A puppy, gamesome, blithe, and young, Who play'd about the court, Was destin'd by unlucky boys, To be their noonday's sport. With flatt'ring words they him entic'd, (Words such as much prevail!) And then with cruel art they tied A bottle to his tail. Lord Hervey at a window stood, Detesting of the fact; And cried aloud with all his might, "I know the bottle's crack'd. "Do not to such a dirty hole Let them your tail apply; Alas! you cannot know these things One half so well as I. "Harmless and young, you don't suspect The venom of this deed; But I see through the whole design, -- It is to make you bleed." This good advice was cast away; The puppy saw it shine; And tamely lick'd their treach'rous hands, And thought himself grown fine. But long he had not worn the gem, But as Lord Hervey said, He ran and bled; the more he ran, Alas! the more he bled. Griev'd to the soul, this gallant lord Tripp'd hastily down stairs; With courage and compassion fir'd, To set him free prepares. But such was his ingratitude To this most noble lord, He bit his lily hand quite through, As he untied the cord. Next day the Maids of Honour came, As I heard people tell; They wash'd the wound with brinish tears, -- And yet it is not well. Oh! gen'rous youth, my counsel take, And warlike acts forbear; Put on white gloves, and lead folks out, -- For that is your affair. Never attempt to take away Bottles from others' tails, For that is what no soul will bear From Italy to Wales.
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