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highlyeccentricYou bid me write, Sir, I comply,
Since I my grave airs can't deny.
But say, how can my Muse declare
The situation of the fair,
That full six hours had sat, or more,
And never once been out of door?
Tea, wine and punch, Sir, to be free
Excellent diuretics be:
I made it so appear, it's true,
When at your house, last night, with you:
Blushing, I own, to you I said,
'I should be glad you called a maid.'
'The girls,' you answered, 'are far from home,
Nor can I guess when they'll return.'
Then in contempt you came to me,
And sneering cried, 'Dear Miss, make free;
Let me conduct you - don't be nice -
Or if a basin is your choice,
To fetch you one I'll instant fly.'
I blushed, but could make no reply;
confused to find myself the joke,
I sat silent till Trueworth spoke:
'To go with me, Miss, don't refuse,
Your loss the freedom will excuse.'
To him my hand reluctant gave,
And out he lead me very grave;
Whilst you and Chatfree laughed aloud
As if to dash a maid seemed proud.
But I the silly jest despise,
Since well I know each man's that's wise
All affectation does disdain,
Since it in prudes and coxcombes reign:
So I repent not what I've done:
Adieu - enjoy your empty fun.
For reference, the poet had been blind since age of twelve - thus the need for a maid to assist her after drinking tea, wine and punch. I thought this a striking example of how much the social delicacies of performed femininity - which are kind of crappy for everone - particularly disadvantage people with disabilities. You can't exactly pretend you're a delicate creature who never excretes if you need assistance from others, but you're still subject to the dictates of modesty and embarrassment.
Since I my grave airs can't deny.
But say, how can my Muse declare
The situation of the fair,
That full six hours had sat, or more,
And never once been out of door?
Tea, wine and punch, Sir, to be free
Excellent diuretics be:
I made it so appear, it's true,
When at your house, last night, with you:
Blushing, I own, to you I said,
'I should be glad you called a maid.'
'The girls,' you answered, 'are far from home,
Nor can I guess when they'll return.'
Then in contempt you came to me,
And sneering cried, 'Dear Miss, make free;
Let me conduct you - don't be nice -
Or if a basin is your choice,
To fetch you one I'll instant fly.'
I blushed, but could make no reply;
confused to find myself the joke,
I sat silent till Trueworth spoke:
'To go with me, Miss, don't refuse,
Your loss the freedom will excuse.'
To him my hand reluctant gave,
And out he lead me very grave;
Whilst you and Chatfree laughed aloud
As if to dash a maid seemed proud.
But I the silly jest despise,
Since well I know each man's that's wise
All affectation does disdain,
Since it in prudes and coxcombes reign:
So I repent not what I've done:
Adieu - enjoy your empty fun.
For reference, the poet had been blind since age of twelve - thus the need for a maid to assist her after drinking tea, wine and punch. I thought this a striking example of how much the social delicacies of performed femininity - which are kind of crappy for everone - particularly disadvantage people with disabilities. You can't exactly pretend you're a delicate creature who never excretes if you need assistance from others, but you're still subject to the dictates of modesty and embarrassment.