life's reverses.
25
On our charity list, then, I'll enter your name,
When by proper credentials you prove you have claim."
The leddie here ended her lang rigmarole,
Whilst ilk ane its finishin' hardly could thole.
Wi downricht displeasure the squire could na speak,
An' a het spot o crimson ting'd Jessie's fair cheek;
But the mither, though sair by sic graceless words stung,
Had mair the command o' her feelin's an' tongue:—
"Young leddie," quo she, "if your motive be guid,
Your way o' befriendin's baith heartless and rude,
An' has ower much the tinkle o' cymbal an' brass,
To gar it for genuine charity pass.
You say we are wretchedly puir an' forlorn,
—An' sae we were, leddie, in a' ways this morn—
Yet, think ye, because folks are puir an' distress'd,
'T must follow nae sensate pulse throbs in their breast.
It needed nae visit to tell ye our tale—
Yestreen it was yours with the snaw-laden gale,
In the cauld breath o' which my bairns travelled to crave
The penny weel earned, frae starvation to save.
Had you troubled yoursel' wi' but ae kindly care,
You'd at once hae jaloused fell distress broucht them there.
Dinna frown, my young lady, I kenna yer heart,
But I ken ye don't act 'Leddie Bountifu's' part;
Ower much ostentation in givin' o' alms
Aye inflicts on the humbled heart stabs wi' its balms.
When by proper credentials you prove you have claim."
The leddie here ended her lang rigmarole,
Whilst ilk ane its finishin' hardly could thole.
Wi downricht displeasure the squire could na speak,
An' a het spot o crimson ting'd Jessie's fair cheek;
But the mither, though sair by sic graceless words stung,
Had mair the command o' her feelin's an' tongue:—
"Young leddie," quo she, "if your motive be guid,
Your way o' befriendin's baith heartless and rude,
An' has ower much the tinkle o' cymbal an' brass,
To gar it for genuine charity pass.
You say we are wretchedly puir an' forlorn,
—An' sae we were, leddie, in a' ways this morn—
Yet, think ye, because folks are puir an' distress'd,
'T must follow nae sensate pulse throbs in their breast.
It needed nae visit to tell ye our tale—
Yestreen it was yours with the snaw-laden gale,
In the cauld breath o' which my bairns travelled to crave
The penny weel earned, frae starvation to save.
Had you troubled yoursel' wi' but ae kindly care,
You'd at once hae jaloused fell distress broucht them there.
Dinna frown, my young lady, I kenna yer heart,
But I ken ye don't act 'Leddie Bountifu's' part;
Ower much ostentation in givin' o' alms
Aye inflicts on the humbled heart stabs wi' its balms.
