Charles Lamb

(10 February 1775 – 27 December 1834 / London)

Discontent And Quarrelling - Poem by Charles Lamb

Miss Lydia every day is drest
Better than I am in my best
White cambric-muslin frock.
I wish I had one made of clear
Worked lawn, or leno very dear.-
And then my heart is broke

Almost to think how cheap my doll
Was bought, when hers cost-yes, cost full
A pound, it did, my brother;
Nor has she had it weeks quite five,
Yet, 'tis as true as I'm alive,
She's soon to have another.

O mother, hear my sister Jane,
How foolishly she does complain,
And tease herself for nought.
But 'tis the way of all her sex,
Thus foolishly themselves to vex.
Envy's a female fault.

O brother Robert, say not so;
It is not very long ago,
Ah! brother, you've forgot,
When speaking of a boy you knew,
Remember how you said that you
Envied his happy lot.

Let's see, what were the words I spoke?
Why, may be I was half in joke-
May be I just might say-
Besides that was not half so bad;
For, Jane, I only said he had
More time than I to play.

O may be, may be, very well:
And may be, brother, I don't tell
Tales to mamma like you.

O cease your wrangling, cease, my dears;
You would not wake a mother's fears
Thus, if you better knew.

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Poem Submitted: Saturday, April 10, 2010

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