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
.