LETTER from MARSEILLES to my Sisters at CRUX-EASTON, MAY 1735. Thomas Lisle Alexander Huber Editor Bodleian Libraries, University of Oxford
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Oxford This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 Unported License. T131163 K104099.006 Dodsley, Robert, 1703-1764. A Collection of Poems in Six Volumes. By Several Hands. Vol. VI. London printed by J. Hughs, for R. and J. Dodsley 1763 [1st ed. 1758] pp. 174-177. 6v.: music; 8⁰.

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LETTER from MARSEILLES to my Sisters at CRUX-EASTON , MAY 1735. By the Same . SCENE , the stuay at Crux-Easton . Molly and Fanny are sitting at work ; enter to them Harriot in a passion . HARRIOT . LORD ! sister , here's the butcher come , And not one word from brother Tom ; The punctual spark , that made his boast He'd write by ev'ry other post ! That ever I was so absurd To take a man upon his word ! Quoth Frances , Child , I wonder much You cou'd expect him to keep touch : 'Tis so , my dear , with all mankind ; When out of sight you're out of mind , Think you he'd to his sisters write ? Was ever girl so unpolite ! Some fair Italian stands possess'd , And reigns sole mistress in his breast ; To her he dedicates his time , And fawns in prose , or sighs in rhyme . She'll give him tokens of her love , Perhaps not easy to remove ; Such as will make him large amends For loss of sisters , and of friends . Cries Harriot , when he comes to France , I hope in God he'll learn to dance , And leave his aukward habits there , I'm sure he has enough to spare . O cou'd he leave his faults , saith Fanny , And bring the good alone , if any , Poor brother Tom , he'd grow so light , The wind might rob us of him quite ! Of habits he may well get clear ; Ill humours are the faults I fear , For in my life I ne'er saw yet A creature half so passionate , Good heav'ns ! how did he rave and tear , On my not going you know where ; I scarcely yet have got my dread off : I thought he'd bite my sister's head off . 'Tween him and Jenny what a clatter About a fig , a mighty matter ! I cou'd recount a thousand more , But scandal's what I most abhor . Molly , who long had patient sate , And heard in silence all their chat , Observing how they spoke with rancour , Took up my cause , for which I thank her . What eloquence was then display'd , The charming things that Molly said , Perhaps it suits not me to tell ; But faith ! she spoke extremely well . She first , with much ado , put on A prudish face , then thus begun . Heyday ! quoth she , you let your tongue Run on most strangely , right or wrong . 'Tis what I never can connive at ; Besides , consider whom you drive at ; A person of establish'd credit , Nobody better , tho' I said it . In all that's good , so tried and known , Why , girls , he's quite a proverb grown , His worth no mortal dares dispute : Then he's your brother too to boot . At this she made a moment's pause , Then with a sigh resum'd the cause . Alas ! my dears , you little know A sailor's toil , a trav'ler's woe ; Perhaps this very hour he strays A lonely wretch thro' desart ways ; Or shipwreck'd on a foreign strand , He falls beneath some ruffian's hand : Or on the naked rock he lies , And pinch'd by famine wastes and dies . Can you this hated brother see Floating , the sport of wind and sea ? Can you his feeble accents hear , Tho' but in thought , nor drop a tear ? He faintly strives , his hopes are fled , The billows booming o'er his head ; He mounts upon the waves again , He calls on us , but calls in vain ; To death preserves his friendship true , And mutters out a kind adieu . See now he rises to our sight , Now sinks in everlasting night . Here Fanny's colour rose and fell , And Harriot's throat began to swell : One sidled to the window quite , Pretending some unusual sight , The other left the room outright ; While Molly laugh'd , her ends obtain'd , To think how artfully she feign'd .