A POEM, On the Supposition of an Advertisement appearing in a Morning Paper, of the Publication of a Volume of Poem, by a Servant Maid. Elizabeth Hands (née Herbert) 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. T141063 Hands, Elizabeth, 1746-1815. The death of Amnon. A poem. With an appendix: containing pastorals, and other poetical pieces. By Elizabeth Hands. [Coventry] Printed for the author, by N. Rollason, Coventry, M,DCCLXXXIX. 1789 pp. []-50. [40],127,[1]p.; 8⁰.

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A POEM , On the Supposition of an Advertisement appearing in a Morning Paper , of the Publication of a Volume of Poem , by a Servant Maid . The tea-kettle bubbled , the tea things were set , The candles were lighted , the ladies were met ; The how d'ye's were over , and entering bustle , The company seated , and silks ceas'd to rustle : The great Mrs. Consequence open'd her fan ; And thus the discourse in an instant began : ( All affected reserve , and formality scorning , ) I suppose you all saw in the paper this morning , A Volume of Poems advertis'd — 'tis said They're produc'd by the pen of a poor Servant Maid . A servant write verses ! says Madam Du Bloom ; Pray what is the subject ? — a Mop , or a Broom ? He , he , he , — says Miss Flounce ; I suppose we shall see An Ode on a Dishclout — what else can it be ? Says Miss Coquettilla , why ladies so tart ? Perhaps Tom the Footman has fired her heart ; And she'll tell us how charming he looks in new clothes , And how nimble his hand moves in brushing the shoes ; Or how the last time that he went to May-Fair , He bought her some sweethearts of ginger-bread ware . For my part I think , says old lady Marr-joy , A servant might find herself other employ : Was she mine I'd employ her as long as 'twas light , And send her to bed without candle at night . Why so ? says Miss Rhymer , displeas'd ; I protest 'Tis pity a genius should be so deprest ! What ideas can such low-bred creatures conceive , Says Mrs. Noworthy , and laught in her sleeve . Says old Miss Prudella , if servants can tell How to write to their mothers , to say they are well , And read of a Sunday the Duty of Man ; Which is more I believe than one half of them can ; I think 'tis much properer they should rest there , Than be reaching at things so much out of their sphere . Says old Mrs. Candour , I've now got a maid That's the plague of my life — a young gossipping jade ; There's no end of the people that after her come , And whenever I'm out , she is never at home ; I'd rather ten times she would sit down and write , Than gossip all over the town ev'ry night . Some whimsical trollop most like , says Miss Prim , Has been scribbling of nonsense , just out of a whim , And conscious it neither is witty or pretty , Conceals her true name , and ascribes it to Betty . I once had a servant myself , says Miss Pines , That wrote on a Wedding , some very good lines ; Says Mrs. Domestic , and when they were done , I can't see for my part , what use they were on ; Had she wrote a receipt , to've instructed you how To warm a cold breast of veal , like a ragou , Or to make cowslip wine , that would pass for Champaign ; It might have been useful , again and again . On the sofa was old lady Pedigree plac'd , She own'd that for poetry she had no taste , That the study of heraldry was more in fashion , And boasted she knew all the crests in the nation . Says Mrs. Routella , — Tom , take out the urn , And stir up the fire , you see it don't burn . The tea things remov'd , and the tea-table gone , The card-tables brought , and the cards laid thereon , The ladies ambitious for each others crown , Like courtiers contending for honours sat down .