Amanda’s Inventory

This is my hat: behold its upstart plume,
Soaring like pride, that even in heaven asks room!
This is my cloak of scarlet splendor rare,
A saucy challenge to the sunset glare.

Behold my coach of state and pony chaise,
A fairy pleasure for the summer days;
The seeds that fly, like lightnings in a leash,
With their rude Jove, subservient to my wish.

Here are my jewels: each a fortune holds;
A starving artist planned the graceful moulds:
Here hang my dresses in composed array,
A rainbow with a hue for every day.

These are my lovers, registered in date,
Who, with my dowry, seek myself to mate.
The haughtiest wooer wins me for his bride:
Who asks affection? Pride should wed with pride.

These are my friends, who hourly come or send,
Pleased with my notice and a finger-end;
Yonder’s my parson, proud to share my feast;
My doctor’s there, a sycophantic beast.

This is my villa, where I take my ease
With flowers well-ordered, and ambitious trees;
And this—what sudden spectre stays my breath?
Amanda, poor Amanda! this is death.