A YOUNG LADY'S LAMENTATION FOR THE LOSS OF HER SISTER BY MARRIAGE. Janet Little (later Richmond) Alexander Huber Editor Bodleian Libraries, University of Oxford
Broad Street Oxford OX1 3BG UK
Eighteenth-Century Poetry Archive
Taylor Institution Library St Giles' Oxford OX1 3NA UK info@eighteenthcenturypoetry.org https://www.eighteenthcenturypoetry.org/
Oxford This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 Unported License. T126549 Little, Janet, 1759-1813. The Poetical Works of Janet Little, the Scotch Milkmaid. Air Printed by John & Peter Wilson 1792 pp. [197]-201.

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A YOUNG LADY'S LAMENTATION FOR THE LOSS OF HER SISTER BY MARRIAGE . WHAT tongue can half my woes express ? What force of eloquence can tell ? The causes of my deep distress Are such as ever seem to swell . My parents not ignoble were ; My father once a merchant fam'd ; But now in a superior sphere , 'Mongst landed gentlemen he's nam'd . My mother of no mean extract : The famous Freyburgh gave her birth ; With wit and prudence still she'll act ; None more accomplished on earth . My brethren all for valour fam'd , Their merit great , what pen can show ; Their praise has been by fame proclaim'd , While justly in esteem they grow . I had one only sister dear ; Our parents' joy and pride were we ; Our charms attractive did appear To men of high and low degree : Who often times , in soft address , Did strive our favour to obtain , While we of fortitude possess'd , Refus'd their offers with disdain . They vow'd we would their ruin prove , Persisting in our cruelty ; But we were wont to laugh at love , And little Cupid's darts defy . We ever arm'd were cap-a-pee ; Indiff'rence was our favourite shield ; But by some fatal destiny , My sister languish'd in the field . Depriv'd of all defensive arms , ( I sigh , my tears begin to flow ) And slain by a sea captain's charms , She married was a month ago . In an unlucky moment he , From Plutus sure had learn'd the art , Made his empoison'd arrows flee , Till one of them did pierce her heart . She did not wish to find relief , But an ignoble victim fell , Which fill'd our parents' hearts with grief ; Their sorrows great what tongue can tell ? The balsam of advice was brought , With drops of strict authority ; Prescriptions still to shun she sought , Nor would the medicines apply . With water of forgetfulness , She oft was bid to bathe the wound : The search was vain , she did protest This water never could be found . It griev'd us much thus to behold Our counsels slighted with disdain : His feather'd darts were tipp'd with gold , Which render'd every effort vain . But conscious that our parents dear Could not behold the fatal blow , To make the stroke seem less severe , She at a distance met the foe . Her peerless charms she there resign'd , CompelI'd by love's supreme command ; A clown by travels much refin'd Did eager clasp her beauteous hand . I will lament a sister lost . Ah ! ladies hear my piteous moan , Depriv'd of what I once could boast , I now must keep the field alone . What though I no assistance have , I hope to act courag'ously , The subtle foe still to outbrave , And man's seducing arts defy . The rich , the poor , the proud , the slave , The fop , the clown , the low , the tall , The gay , the giddy , or the grave , I scornfully defy them all .