While you, without a care, a wish to please, Eat the vile bread of idleness and ease." Th' indignant Girl, astonish'd, answer'd--"Nay! This instant, madam, let me haste away: Thus speaks my father's, thus an orphan's friend? This instant, lady, let your bounty end." The Lady frown'd indignant--"What!" she cried, "A vicar's daughter with a princess' pride And pauper's lot! but pitying I forgive; How, simple Jesse, do you think to live? Have I not power to help you, foolish maid? To my concerns be your attention paid; With cheerful mind th' allotted duties take, And recollect I have a Will to make." Jesse, who felt as liberal natures feel, When thus the baser their designs reveal, Replied--"Those duties were to her unfit, Nor would her spirit to her tasks submit." In silent scorn the Lady sat awhile, And then replied with stern contemptuous smile - "Think you, fair madam, that you came to share Fortunes like mine without a thought or care? A guest, indeed! from every trouble free, Dress'd by my help, with not a care for me; When I a visit to your father made, I for the poor assistance largely paid; To his domestics I their tasks assign'd, I fix'd the portion for his hungry hind; And had your father (simple man!) obey'd My good advice, and watch'd as well as pray'd, He might have left you something with his prayers, And lent some colour for these lofty airs. - "In tears, my love! Oh, then my soften'd heart Cannot resist--we never more will part; I need your friendship--I will be your friend, And, thus determined, to my Will attend." Jesse went forth, but with determined soul To fly such love, to break from such control: "I hear enough," the trembling damsel cried; Flight be my care, and Providence my guide: Ere yet a prisoner, I escape will make; Will, thus display'd, th' insidious arts forsake, And, as the rattle sounds, will fly the fatal snake." Jesse her thanks upon the morrow paid, Prepared to go, determined though afraid. "Ungrateful creature!" said the Lady, "this Could I imagine?--are you frantic, miss? What! leave your friend, your prospects--is it true?" This Jesse answer'd by a mild "Adieu?" The Dame replied "Then houseless may you rove, The starving victim to a guilty love; Branded with shame, in sickness doom'd to nurse An ill-form'd cub, your scandal and your curse; Spurn'd by its scoundrel father, and ill fed By surly rustics with the parish-bread! - Relent you not?--speak--yet I can forgive; Still live with me."--"With you," said Jesse, "live? No! I would first endure what you describe, Rather than breathe with your detested tribe; Who long have feign'd, till now their very hearts Are firmly fix'd in their accursed parts; Who all profess esteem, and feel disdain, And all, with justice, of deceit complain; Whom I could pity, but that, while I stay, My terror drives all kinder thoughts away; Grateful for this, that, when I think of you, I little fear what poverty can do."