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THE RIGHTS OF WOMAN.

AN OCCASIONAL ADDRESS

SPOKEN BY MISS FONTENELLE ON HER BENEFIT NIGHT, NOVEMBER 26, 1792.

(CURRIE, 1800.)

WHILE Europe's eye is fix'd on mighty things,
The fate of empires and the fall of Kings;
While quacks of State must each produce his plan,
And even children lisp the Rights of Man;
Amid this mighty fuss just let me mention,
The Rights of Woman merit some attention.

First, in the sexes' intermix'd connection,
One sacred Right of Woman is protection.—
The tender flower that lifts its head, elate,
Helpless, must fall before the blasts of fate,
Sunk on the earth, defac'd its lovely form,
Unless your shelter ward th' impending storm.

Our second Right-but needless here is caution,
To keep that right inviolate's the fashion;
Each man of sense has it so full before him,
He'd die before he'd wrong it-'tis decorum.—
There was, indeed, in far less polish'd days,
A time, when rough rude man had naughty ways;
Would swagger, swear, get drunk, kick up a riot,
Nay even while thus invade a lady's quiet.
Now, thank our stars! these Gothic times are fled;
Now, well-bred men-and you are all well-bred—
Most justly think (and we are much the gainers)
Such conduct neither spirit, wit, nor manners.

For Right the third, our last, our best, our dearest,
That right to fluttering female hearts the nearest ;
Which even the Rights of Kings, in low prostration,
Most humbly own-'tis dear, dear admiration!
In that blest sphere alone we live and move;
There taste that life of life-immortal love.
Smiles, glances, sighs, tears, fits, flirtations, airs;
'Gainst such an host what flinty savage dares,
When awful Beauty joins with all her charms—
Who is so rash as rise in rebel arms?

But truce with kings, and truce with constitutions,
With bloody armaments and revolutions;
Let Majesty your first attention summon,
Ah! ca ira! THE MAJESTY OF WOMAN!

["In those days," says Robert Chambers, "the little theatre of Dumfries was pretty regularly opened each winter, under the care of a Mr. Sutherland, whom we have already seen Burns patronising while he resided at Ellisland. In the corps dramatique was a Miss Fontenelle, a smart and pretty little creature who played 'Little Pickle' in the Spoiled Child, and other such characters. Burns admired the performances of Miss Fontenelle, and was disposed to befriend her."

This is the first of two occasional Addresses which he furnished to be recited by her on her benefit nights. In sending this production he thus wrote:-"To you, madam, on our humble Dumfries boards, I have been more indebted for entertainment than ever I was in prouder theatres. Your charms as a woman would insure applause to the most indifferent actress, and your theatrical talents would insure admiration to the plainest figure."

Burns was evidently pleased with this production, for we find that he sent copies of it not only to Mrs. Dunlop and Mr. Graham of Fintry; but he also sent it for publication in the Edinburgh Gazetteer of Captain Johnstone.]

EPIGRAM ON SEEING MISS FONTENELLE IN A FAVORITE CHARACTER.

(CUNNINGHAM, 1834.)

SWEET naïveté of feature,

Simple, wild, enchanting elf,
Not to thee, but thanks to Nature,
Thou art acting but thyself.

Wert thou awkward, stiff, affected,
Spurning Nature, torturing art;
Loves and Graces all rejected,

Then indeed thou'd'st act a part.

[The poet added in prose-"This, madam, is not the unmeaning or insidious compliment of the frivolous or interested; I pay it from the same honest impulse that the sublime of Nature excites my admiration or her beauties give me delight."]

EXTEMPORE ON SOME COMMEMORATIONS OF THOMSON.

(CHAMBERS, 1856.)

Dost thou not rise, indignant shade,
And smile wi' spurning scorn,

When they wha wad hae starved thy life, would have
Thy senseless turf adorn?

Helpless, alane, thou clamb the brae,

Wi' meikle honest toil,

much

And claught th' unfading garland there— clutched
Thy sair-won, rightful spoil.

sore

And wear it there! and call aloud

This axiom undoubted

Would thou hae Nobles' patronage?
First learn to live without it.

To whom hae much, more shall be given,
Is every Great man's faith;

But he, the helpless, needful wretch,
Shall lose the mite he hath.

[This was first published in the Edinburgh Gazetteer in December 1792, and the poet enclosed a copy of it to Mr. Graham of Fintry in January following, along with Miss Fontenelle's address on the "Rights of Woman." Chambers remarks regarding it— "There can be no doubt that Burns here had in view the same affair which he had treated in so conceding a style in September of the preceding year. In the interval he had come to see it in its true light."]

AULD ROB MORRIS.

(GEORGE THOMSON'S COLLECTION, 1793.)

THERE'S Auld Rob Morris that wons in yon glen, dwells He's the King o' gude fellows, and the wale o' pick

auld men;

He has gowd in his coffers, he has owsen and kine,

And ae bonie lassie, his dautie and mine.

gold

oxen

darling

She's fresh as the morning, the fairest in May;
She's sweet as the ev'ning amang the new hay;
As blythe and as artless as the lambs on the lea,*
And dear to my heart as the light to my e'e.

Her bonie face it was as meek

As ony lamb upon a lea;

The ev'ning sun was ne'er sae sweet

As was the blink o' Phemie's e'e. p. 126, Vol. II.

But oh! she's an Heiress, auld Robin's a laird,
And my daddie has nought but a cot-house and yard;
A wooer like me maunna hope to come speed, must not
The wounds I must hide that will soon be my

dead.

death

The day comes to me, but delight brings me nane;
The night comes to me, but my rest it is gane;
I wander my lane like a night-troubled ghaist,
And I sigh as my heart it wad burst in my breast.

O had she but been of a lower degree,

alone

I then might hae hop'd she wad smil'd upon me!
O how past descriving had then been my bliss, describing
As now my distraction nae words can express.

[The two opening lines of the above are part of the old ballad given in Johnson's second volume; the rest of the song is entirely original. There is a good deal of nature in the old production, which must be at least two centuries old. It is in form of a dialogue between a country girl of fifteen and her sagacious old mother, who tries to persuade her into a marriage with "Auld Rob Morris" whose age is only four-score. But the girl's description of the person of her old suitor is quite overcoming by its graphic humor; and despite its freedom and grossness, the old ballad still retains its hold in country districts. Part of its popularity, however, must be attributed to its fine old melody, which is one of the best of the Scots airs.

Chambers has an observation that Charlotte Hamilton supplied the picture of artless beauty in the second stanza, but the reader will see that it is merely another rendering of one of the stanzas in the poet's song in praise of Phemie Murray at Ochtertyre.]

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