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.