Hands Supposition

7/29/2019 Hands Supposition

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MERIDIANPublished by the Penguin Group

Penguin Books USA Inc., 375 Hudson Street,New York, New York 10014, U.S.A.

Penguin Books Ltd, 27 Wrights Lane, London W8 5TZ, EnglandPenguin Books Australia Ltd, Ringwood, Victoria, Australia

Penguin Books Canada Ltd, 10 Alcorn Avenue, Toronto, Ontar io, Canada M4V 3B2Penguin Books (N.Z.) Ltd, 182-190 Wairau Road, Auckland 10, New ZealandPenguin Books Ltd, Registered Offices: Harmondsworth, Middlesex, England

First published by Meridian, an imprint of Dutton Signet,a division of Penguin Books USA Inc.

First Printing, December, 199610 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2

Copyright Margaret Higonnet, 1996All rights reserved@ REGISTERED TRADEMARK-MARCA REGISTRADA

LIBRARY OF CONGRESS CATALOGING-IN-PUBLICATION DATA:British women poets of the 19th century I edited by Margaret RandolphHigonnet.

p. em.ISBN 0-452-01161-21. English poetry-Women authors. 2. English poetry-19th century.

3. Women-Poetry. I. Higonnet, Margaret R.PR1177 .B75 1996821 ' .808-dc20

Printed in the United States of AmericaSet in Garamond No.3

Designed by Eve L. Kirch

96-14411CIP

Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publicationmay be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in anyform, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise),without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.BOOKS ARE AVAILABLE AT QUANTITY DISCOUNTS WHEN USED TO PROMOTE PRODUCTSOR SERVICES. FOR INFORMATION PLEASE WRITE TO PREMIUM MARKETING DIVISION,PENGUIN BOOKS USA INC., 375 HUDSON STREET, NE W YORK, NE W YORK 10014.


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112 British Women Poets o f the 19th Century[A Poem]

Written, Originally Extempore, on Seeing a Mad Heifer RunThrough the Village Where the Author Lives

When summer smiled, and birds on every sprayIn joyous warblings tuned their vocal lay,Nature on all sides showed a lovely scene,And people's minds were, like the air, serene;Sudden from the herd we saw an heifer strayAnd to our peaceful village bend her way.She spurns the ground with madness as she flies,And clouds of dust, like autumn mists, arise;Then bellows loud. The villagers, alarmed,Come rushing forth with various weapons armed:Some run with pieces of old broken rakes,And some from hedges pluck the rotten stakes;Here one in haste with hand-staff of his flail,And there another comes with half a rail;Whips, without lashes, sturdy plowboys bring,While clods of dirt and pebbles others fling;Voices tumultuous rend the listening ear:"Stop her"-one cries; another-"Turn her there,"But furiously she rushes by them all,And some huzza and some to cursing fall;A mother snatched her infant off the road,Close to the spot of ground where next she trod;Camilla, walking, trembled and turned pale:See o'er her gentle heart what fears prevail!At last the beast, unable to withstandSuch force united, leapt into a pond;The water quickly cooled her maddened rage;No more she'll fright our village, I presage.

A PoemOn the Supposition ofan Advertisement Appearing in a Morning Paper,of he Publication ofa Volume of Poems by a Servant Maid

The teakettle bubbled, the tea things were set,The candles were lighted, the ladies were met;The how-d'ye's were over and entering bustle,The company seated, and silks ceased to rustle:The great Mrs. Consequence opened her fan;And thus the discourse in an instant began:(All affected reserve and formality scorning)

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Elizabeth Hands 113"I suppose you all saw in the paper this morning,A volume ofpoems advertised-' is saidThey're produced by the pen of a poor servant maid." w"A servant write verses!" says Madam Du Bloom;"Pray what is the subject?-a mop, or a broom?""He, he, he," says Miss Flounce; "I suppose we shall seeAn ode on a dishclottt-what else can it be?"Says Miss Coquettella, "Why, ladies, so tart?Perhaps Tom the footman has fired her heart;And she'll tell us how charming he looks in new clothes,And how nimble his hand moves in brushing the shoes;Or how the last time that he went to Mayfair,He bought her some sweethearts of gingerbread ware." 20"For my part I think," says old Lady Mar-Joy,"A servant might find herself other employ:Was she mine I'd employ her as long as 'twas light,And send her to bed without candle at night.""Why so?" says Miss Rhymer, displeased; "I protest'Tis pity a genius should be so depressed!""What ideas can such low-bred creatures conceive,"Says Mrs. Noworthy, and laughed in her sleeve.Says old Miss Prudella, "I f servants can tellHow to write to their mothers, to say they are well, 30And read of a Sunday The Duty ofMan-Which is more I believe than one half of them can -I think 'tis much properer they should rest there,Than be reaching at things so much out of their sphere."Says old Mrs. Candor, ''I've now got a maidThat's the plague of my l ife-a young gossipping jade;There's no end of the people that after her come,And whenever I'm out, she is never at home;I'd rather ten times she would sit down and write,Than gossip all over the town every night." 40"Some whimsical trollop, most like," says Miss Prim,"Has been scribbling of nonsense, just out of a whim,And conscious it neither is witty or pretty,Conceals her true name, and ascribes it to Betty.""I once had a servant myself," says Miss Pines,"That wrote on a wedding, some very good lines."Says Mrs. Domestic, "and when they were done,I can't see for my part, what use they were on;Had she wrote a receipt, to've instructed you howTo warm a cold breast of veal, like a ragout, 50Or to make cowslip wine, that would pass for champagne,It might have been useful, again and again."On the sofa was old Lady Pedigree placed.


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114 British Women Poets of the 19th CenturyShe owned that for poetry she had no taste,That the study of heraldry was more in fashion,And boasted she knew all the crests in the nation.Says Mrs. Routella, "Tom, take out the urn,And stir up the fire, you see it don't burn."The tea things removed, and the tea table gone,The card tables brought, and the cards laid thereon,The ladies ambitious for each other's crown,Like courtiers contending for honors sat down.

A PoemOn the Supposition of the Book Having Been Published and Read

The dinner was over, the tablecloth gone,The bottles of wine and the glasses brought on;The gentlemen filled up the sparkling glassesTo drink to their king, to their country and lasses;The ladies a glass or two only required,To the drawing room then in due order retired;The gentlemen likewise that chose to drink tea;And after discussing the news of the day -What wife was suspected; what daughter eloped;What thief was detected; that 'twas to be hopedThe rascals would all be convicted and roped;What chambermaid kissed when her lady was out;Who won, and who lost, the last night at the rout;What lord gone to France; and what tradesman unpaid;And who and who danced at the last masquerade;What banker stopped payment with evil intentionAnd twenty more things much too tedious to mention,Miss Rhymer says, "Mrs. Routella, ma'am, prayHave you seen the new book (that we talked of that day,At your house, you remember) of poems, 'twas saidProduced by the pen of a poor servant maid?"The company silent, the answer expected;Says Mrs. Routella, when she'd recollected,"Why, ma'am, I have bought it for Charlotte; the childIs so fond of a book, I'm afraid it is spoiled.I thought to have read it myself, bu t forgat it;In short, I have never had time to look at it.Perhaps I may look it o'er some other day;Is there anything in it worth reading, I pray?For your nice attention there's nothing can 'scape."She answered, "There's one piece, whose subject's a rape-"

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Hands Supposition