I scarce can speak, Bartholomew,
I am so much displeased with you
For all that has occur'd:
Aunt Porter, who had come to stay,
Has in her Chariot roll'd away
Without a parting Word.
Last Night, when all were sent to Dine,
You took a Fish-hook and some Twine
And, leaning o'er the Stair,
When honour'd Guests went by Below
Let slyly down the Hook, and so
Secured it in her Hair.
Alas! Aunt Porter, long denied
That Crown which is a Woman's Pride,
And thinking, sure, no Ill,
At Table duly took her Seat
With seasoned Majesty replete
And amiable Good-will.
At last she rais'd her Hand appall'd
And sudden found that she was Bald,
And for her Speech did strive:—
The Scene I cannot now pursue,
It has been given to very Few
Such Moments to survive.
Ah me! you cannot understand
What Pow'r may lie in childish Hand
E'en at such tender Age.
Our Relative in high Disgust
Will make Resentment, deep and just,
Our only Heritage.
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