(“It being deposed that vij women who were mayds before he knew them have
been brought upon the towne [rates?] by the fornicacions of one Ralph
Blossom, Mr Major inquired why he should not contribute xiv pence weekly
toward their mayntenance. But it being shewn that the sayd R. B. was
dying of a purple feaver, no order was made.”—_Budmouth Borough Minutes_:
16–.)
WHEN I am in hell or some such place,
A-groaning over my sorry case,
What will those seven women say to me
Who, when I coaxed them, answered “Aye” to me?
“I did not understand your sign!”
Will be the words of Caroline;
While Jane will cry, “If I’d had proof of you,
I should have learnt to hold aloof of you!”
“I won’t reproach: it was to be!”
Will dryly murmur Cicely;
And Rosa: “I feel no hostility,
For I must own I lent facility.”
Lizzy says: “Sharp was my regret,
And sometimes it is now! But yet
I joy that, though it brought notoriousness,
I knew Love once and all its gloriousness!”
Says Patience: “Why are we apart?
Small harm did you, my poor Sweet Heart!
A manchild born, now tall and beautiful,
Was worth the ache of days undutiful.”
And Anne cries: “O the time was fair,
So wherefore should you burn down there?
There is a deed under the sun, my Love,
And that was ours. What’s done is done, my Love.
These trumpets here in Heaven are dumb to me
With you away. Dear, come, O come to me!”
THE NOBLE LADY’S TALE
(_circa_ 1790)
I
“WE moved with pensive paces,
I and he,
And bent our faded faces
Wistfully,
For something troubled him, and troubled me.
“The lanthorn feebly lightened
Our grey hall,
Where ancient brands had brightened
Hearth and wall,
And shapes long vanished whither vanish all.
“‘O why, Love, nightly, daily,’
I had said,
‘Dost sigh, and smile so palely,
As if shed
Were all Life’s blossoms, all its dear things dead?’
“‘Since silence sets thee grieving,’
He replied,
‘And I abhor deceiving
One so tried,
Why, Love, I’ll speak, ere time us twain divide.’
“He held me, I remember,
Just as when
Our life was June—(September
It was then);
And we walked on, until he spoke again.
“‘Susie, an Irish mummer,
Loud-acclaimed
Through the gay London summer,
Was I; named
A master in my art, who would be famed.
“‘But lo, there beamed before me
Lady Su;
God’s altar-vow she swore me
When none knew,
And for her sake I bade the sock adieu.
“‘My Lord your father’s pardon
Thus I won:
He let his heart unharden
Towards his son,
And honourably condoned what we had done;
“‘But said—recall you, dearest?—
_As for Su_,
_I’d see her—ay_, _though nearest_
_Me unto_—
_Sooner entombed than in a stage purlieu_!
“‘Just so.—And here he housed us,
In this nook,
Where Love like balm has drowsed us:
Robin, rook,
Our chief familiars, next to string and book.
“‘Our days here, peace-enshrouded,
Followed strange
The old stage-joyance, crowded,
Rich in range;
But never did my soul desire a change,
“‘Till now, when far uncertain
Lips of yore
Call, call me to the curtain,
There once more,
But _once_, to tread the boards I trod before.
“‘A night—the last and single
Ere I die—
To face the lights, to mingle
As did I
Once in the game, and rivet every eye!’
“Such was his wish. He feared it,
Feared it though
Rare memories endeared it.
I, also,
Feared it still more; its outcome who could know?
“‘Alas, my Love,’ said I then,
‘Since it be
A wish so mastering, why, then,
E’en go ye!—
Despite your pledge to father and to me . . . ’
“’Twas fixed; no more was spoken
Thereupon;
Our silences were broken
Only on
The petty items of his needs were gone.
“Farewell he bade me, pleading
That it meant
So little, thus conceding
To his bent;
And then, as one constrained to go, he went.
“Thwart thoughts I let deride me,
As, ’twere vain
To hope him back beside me
Ever again:
Could one plunge make a waxing passion wane?
“I thought, ‘Some wild stage-woman,
Honour-wrecked . . . ’
But no: it was inhuman
To suspect;
Though little cheer could my lone heart affect!