Epilogue, Spoke by Miss Kitty Bolton

You'll say, since 'tis not you, I wait my doom from,
Whence does this forward little gipsy come from?
From my own sex, all I yet hope, is laughter ;
Lord knows what passions I may move, hereafter ,
At present , I'm too heart-whole , to complain t' ye,
And not quite old enough , to give one pain t' ye.

To you, dear gentlemen , with due petition ,
Comes a pure innocent , in soft submission ;
Forward presumer, I confess, to teize ye,
Some years too soon (as some folks think) to please ye:
Yet, smile — you can't imagine, what temptation
There lies, to willing minds, in provocation.

Kindly accepted now, and worth your heeding ,
I shall improve apace — with good stage-breeding .
Let me come on, and talk , then, fear no shrinking,
For I, already, pay it off, with thinking .
The younger, Sirs, the better — that plain fact is,
And she, who soon begins — will have most practice .
Yet Mamma bit poor Kitty , when she told her,
She'd grow more fit to please as she grew older .

Heav'n knows, indeed, what I am fit for , yet!
Beauty's not mine — and I can plead no wit .
Scarce had I had one claim to your compassion ,
But that no wit , and little worth's the fashion ,
That's hope — then I have learnt to sing — there's merit ,
Nav, I'm told, I dance not ill — that's spirit .
Oh, gentlemen! trust but to suture action,
And, four years hence, I'll move , with strange attraction .
Translation: 
Language: 
Rate this poem: 

Reviews

No reviews yet.