A Narrative Of The Life Of Mrs Charlotte Charke Youngest Daughter Of Colley Cibber Written By Herself With A Portrait

Author : Charlotte Charke
Publisher : Theclassics.Us
ISBN 13 : 9781230427294
Total Pages : 98 pages
Book Rating : 4.4/5 (272 download)

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Download or read book A Narrative of the Life of Mrs. Charlotte Charke, Youngest Daughter of Colley Cibber, Esq written by Charlotte Charke and published by Theclassics.Us. This book was released on 2013-09 with total page 98 pages. Available in PDF, EPUB and Kindle. Book excerpt: This historic book may have numerous typos and missing text. Purchasers can usually download a free scanned copy of the original book (without typos) from the publisher. Not indexed. Not illustrated. 1830 edition. Excerpt: ... following description of the room, and exact inventory of my chattels. Good people for a while give ear, Till I've describ'd my furniture: With my stately room I shall begin, Which a part of Noah's ark has been: My windows reach from pole to pole; Strangely airy--that in winter, O my soul. With the dear delight, of--here and there a hole. There is a chest of drawers too, I think, Which seems a trough, where pigeons drink; A handkerchief and cap's as much as they'll contain: 0 1 but I keep no gowns--so need not to complain. Then, for my fire-; I've an inch of stove, Which I often grieve I cannot move When I travel from the chimney to the door, Which are miles full three, if not fourscore. By that time I, shiv'ring, arrive, 1 doubtful grow if I'm alive. Two foreign screens I have, in lieu Of tongs and poker--nay, faith, shovel too. Sometimes they serve to fan the fire, For 'tis seldom that to bellows I aspire * I'll challenge England's king, and the Pretender, To say, that e'er I rust my fender. That fashion's old, I've got a newer, And prudently make use of iron skewer. Now for my lovely bed, of verdant hue, Which, ere Adam liv'd, might possibly be new. So charming thin, the darns so neat With great conveniency expel the heat: But these things will not ever last; Each day a curtain I, in breathing, waste. Then, for chairs; I indeed have one; But, since ruin draws so swiftly on, Will let my room, ere chair, screens, And curtains all are gone. These curious lines were for nineteen years, preserved by my foolish, fond sister; who, in her turn, has been a universal friend to her brethren, or rather her sisterhood. I wish fortune had been less rigorous, and gratitude more predominant; that the former might have prevented, or the latter have...