Part 2 — DEBORAH’s PARROT, A VILLAGE TALE.

’Twas in a little western town

An ancient Maiden dwelt:

Her name was Miss, or Mistress, Brown,

Or Deborah, or Debby: She

Was doom’d a Spinster pure to be,

For soft delights her breast ne’er felt:

Yet, she had watchful Ears and Eyes

For ev’ry youthful neighbour,

And never did she cease to labour

A tripping female to surprize.

98And why was she so wond’rous pure,

So stiff, so solemn—so demure?

Why did she watch with so much care

The roving youth, the wand’ring fair?

The tattler, Fame, has said that she

A Spinster’s life had long detested,

But ’twas her quiet destiny,

Never to be molested!—

And had Miss Debby’s form been grac’d,

Fame adds,—She had not been so chaste;—

But since for frailty she would roam,

She ne’er was taught—to look at home.

Miss Debby was of mien demure

And blush’d, like any maid!

She could not saucy man endure

Lest she should be betray’d!

She never fail’d at dance or fair

To watch the wily lurcher’s snare;

99At Church, she was a model Godly!

Though sometimes she had other eyes

Than those, uplifted to the skies,

Leering most oddly!

And Scandal, ever busy, thought

She rarely practic’d—what she taught.

Her dress was always stiff brocade,

With laces broad and dear;

Fine Cobwebs! that would thinly shade

Her shrivell’d cheek of sallow hue,

While, like a Spider, her keen eye,

Which never shed soft pity’s tear,

Small holes in others geer could spy,

And microscopic follies, prying view.

And sorely vex’d was ev’ry simple thing

That wander’d near her never-tiring sting!

100Miss Debby had a Parrot, who,

If Fame speaks true,

Could prate, and tell what neighbours did,

And yet the saucy rogue was never chid!

Sometimes, he talk’d of roving Spouses

Who wander’d from their quiet houses:

Sometimes, he call’d a Spinster pure

By names, that Virtue can’t indure!

And sometimes told an ancient Dame

Such tales as made her blush with shame!

Then gabbled how a giddy Miss

Would give the boist’rous Squire a kiss!

But chiefly he was taught to cry,

“Who with the Parson toy’d? O fie!”

This little joke, Miss Debby taught him,

To vex a young and pretty neighbour;

But by her scandal-zealous labour

To shame she brought him!

101For, the Old Parrot, like his teacher

Was but a false and canting preacher,

And many a gamesome pair had sworn

Such lessons were not to be borne.

At last, Miss Debby sore was flouted

And by her angry neighbours scouted;

She never knew one hour of rest,

Of ev’ry Saucy Boor, the jest:

The young despis’d her, and the Sage

Look’d back on Time’s impartial page;

They knew that youth was giv’n to prove

The season of extatic joy,

That none but Cynics would destroy,

The early buds of Love.

They also knew that Debby sigh’d

For charms that envious Time deny’d;

That she was vex’d with jealous Spleen

That Hymen pass’d her by, unseen.

102For though the Spinster’s wealth was known,

Gold will not purchase Love—alone.

She, and her Parrot, now were thought

The torments of their little Sphere;

He, because mischievously taught,

And She, because a maid austere!—

In short, she deem’d it wise to leave

A Place, where none remain’d, to grieve.

Soon, to a distant town remov’d,

Miss Debby’s gold an husband bought;

And all she had her Parrot taught,

(Her Parrot now no more belov’d,)

Was quite forgotten. But, alas!

As Fate would have it come to pass,

Her Spouse was giv’n to jealous rage,

For, both in Person and in Age,

He was the partner of his love,

Ordain’d her second Self to prove!

103One day, Old Jenkins had been out

With merry friends to dine,

And, freely talking, had, no doubt

Been also free with wine.

One said, of all the wanton gay

In the whole parish search it round,

None like the Parson could be found,

Where a frail Maid was in the way.

Another thought the Parson sure

To win the heart of maid or wife;

And would have freely pledg’d his life

That young, or old, or rich or poor

None could defy

The magic of his roving eye!

Jenkins went home, but all the night

He dream’d of this strange tale!

Yet, bless’d his stars! with proud delight,

His partner was not young, nor frail.

104Next morning, at the breakfast table.

The Parrot, loud as he was able,

Was heard repeatedly to cry,

“Who with the Parson toy’d? O fie!”

Old Jenkins listen’d, and grew pale,

The Parrot then, more loudly scream’d,

And Mistress Jenkins heard the tale

And much alarm’d she seem’d!

Trembling she tried to stop his breath,

Her lips and cheek as pale as death!

The more she trembled, still the more

Old Jenkins view’d her o’er and o’er;

And now her yellow cheek was spread

With blushes of the deepest red.

And now again the Parrot’s Tale

Made his old Tutoress doubly pale;

For cowardice and guilt, they say

Are the twin brothers of the soul;

105So Mistress Jenkins, her dismay

Could not controul!

While the accuser, now grown bold,

Thrice o’er, the tale of mischief told.

Now Jenkins from the table rose,

“Who with the Parson toy’d?” he cried.

“So Mistress Frailty, you must play,

“And sport, your wanton hours away.

“And with your gold, a pretty joke,

“You thought to buy a pleasant cloak;

“A screen to hide your shame—but know

“I will not blind to ruin go.—

“I am no modern Spouse, dy’e see,

“Gold will not gild disgrace, with me!”

Some say he seiz’d his fearful bride,

And came to blows!

Day after day, the contest dire

Augmented, with resistless ire!

106And many a drubbing Debby bought

For mischief, she her Parrot taught!

Thus, Slander turns against its maker;

And if this little Story reaches

A Spinster, who her Parrot teaches,

Let her a better task pursue,

And here, the certain Vengeance view

Which surely will, in TIME, O’ERTAKE HER.

107