Nothing at all. I seldom stray
From home, to hear of other folk’s affairs.
Eliza.
You may believe me every whit;
Sibylla told it me to-day.
She too has been befooled: that comes of it,
When people give themselves such airs!
Margaret.
How so?
Eliza.
’Tis rank!
She eats and drinks for two, not now for one.
Margaret.
Poor girl!
Eliza.
Well, well! she has herself to thank.
How long did she not hang upon
The fellow!—Yes! that was a parading,
A dancing and a promenading!
Must always be before the rest!
And to wines and pasties be pressed;
Began then to be proud of her beauty,
And was so reckless of her duty
As to take presents from him too.
That was a cooing and a caressing!
No wonder if the flower too be amissing!
Margaret.
I pity her.
Eliza.
Methinks you have not much to do.
When we were not allowed to venture o’er
The threshold, night and day kept close at spinning,
There stood she, with her paramour,
Upon the bench, before the door,
Or in the lane, and hour for hour
Scarce knew the end from the beginning.
’Tis time that she should go to school
And learn—on the repentance-stool!
Margaret.
But he will take her for his wife.
Eliza.
He marry her! not for his life!
An active youth like him can find,
Where’er he pleases, quarters to his mind.
Besides, he’s gone!
Margaret.
That was not fair.
Eliza.
And if he should come back, she’ll not enjoy him more.
Her marriage wreath the boys will tear,
