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.