And--"Well!" she said, "is that some distant swain, Or aught with us, that gives your bosom pain? Come, we are fellow-sufferers, slaves in thrall, And tasks and griefs are common to us all; Think not my frankness strange: they love to paint Their state with freedom, who endure restraint; And there is something in that speaking eye And sober mien that prove I may rely: You came a stranger; to my words attend, Accept my offer, and you find a friend; It is a labyrinth in which you stray, Come, hold my clue, and I will lead the way. "Good Heav'n! that one so jealous, envious, base, Should be the mistress of so sweet a place; She, who so long herself was low and poor, Now broods suspicious on her useless store; She loves to see us abject, loves to deal Her insult round, and then pretends to feel: Prepare to cast all dignity aside, For know, your talents will be quickly tried; Nor think, from favours past a friend to gain, - 'Tis but by duties we our posts maintain: I read her novels, gossip through the town, And daily go, for idle stories down; I cheapen all she buys, and bear the curse Of honest tradesmen for my niggard purse; And, when for her this meanness I display, She cries, 'I heed not what I throw away;' Of secret bargains I endure the shame, And stake my credit for our fish and game; Oft has she smiled to hear 'her generous soul Would gladly give, but stoops to my control:' Nay! I have heard her, when she chanced to come Where I contended for a petty sum, Affirm 'twas painful to behold such care, 'But Issop's nature is to pinch and spare:' Thus all the meanness of the house is mine, And my reward--to scorn her, and to dine. "See next that giddy thing, with neither pride To keep her safe, nor principle to guide: Poor, idle, simple flirt! as sure as fate Her maiden-fame will have an early date: Of her beware; for all who live below Have faults they wish not all the world to know, And she is fond of listening, full of doubt, And stoops to guilt to find an error out. "And now once more observe the artful Maid, A lying, prying, jilting, thievish jade; I think, my love, you would not condescend To call a low, illiterate girl your friend: But in our troubles we are apt, you know, To lean on all who some compassion show; And she has flexile features, acting eyes, And seems with every look to sympathise; No mirror can a mortal's grief express With more precision, or can feel it less; That proud, mean spirit, she by fawning courts By vulgar flattery, and by vile reports; And by that proof she every instant gives To one so mean, that yet a meaner lives. "Come, I have drawn the curtain, and you see Your fellow-actors, all our company; Should you incline to throw reserve aside, And in my judgment and my love confide, I could some prospects open to your view, That ask attention--and, till then, adieu." "Farewell!" said Jesse, hastening to her room, Where all she saw within, without, was gloom: Confused, perplex'd, she pass'd a dreary hour,