THE PERSON OF THE HOUSE

The sickly airs had died of damp;

Through huddling leaves the holy chime

Flagged; I, expecting Mrs. Gamp,

Thought — “Will the woman come in time?”

Upstairs I knew the matron bed

Held her whose name confirms all joy

To me; and tremblingly I said,

“Ah! will it be a girl or boy?”

And, soothed, my fluttering doubts began

To sift the pleasantness of things;

Developing the unshapen man,

An eagle baffled of his wings;

Considering, next, how fair the state

And large the license that sublimes

A nineteenth-century female fate —

Sweet cause that thralls my liberal rhymes!

And Chastities and colder Shames,

Decorums mute and marvellous,

And fair Behaviour that reclaims

All fancies grown erroneous,

Moved round me musing, till my choice

Faltered. A female in a wig

Stood by me, and a drouthy voice

Announced her — Mrs. Betsy Prig.