ENVY.
MELINDA.
I wish I had a coach, mamma;
O, how I should delight to ride,
Like Jennie Wright, where’er I pleased,
And have a servant at my side.
The other day, as Ann and I
Were walking down the meadow lane,
With John and Mary Anna Smith,
Who should go by but little Jane!
The man drove slow, that Miss might view
The charming prospect all around;
How proud she felt that she could ride,
While we were walking on the ground!
We all ran off and left the coach,
But while we gathered flowers for you,
Mamma, the servant followed us,
For Miss must have some daisies too.
She seemed resolved to let us know
That she could have just what she pleased,
Then the new coach whirled off, and so
I really hope her mind was eased.
What was it, ma, that vexed me so
And spoiled the pleasure of the day?
I should have had a charming walk
If that old coach had kept away.
MOTHER.
’Twas envy, child, an odious sin,
That springs from ignorance and pride;
You grieved to see another taste
Enjoyments to yourself denied.
That little Miss you envied so
Lived six long months in constant pain,
Then the disorder seized her feet,
And she will never walk again.
I chanced to be at Mr. Wright’s
That very day, when Jane came home;
Her brother took her in his arms,
And brought her sobbing to the room.
Her mother tenderly enquired
What made her weep. “Alas!” she cried,
“Why, mother, will you urge your child
To seek for pleasure in a ride?
“At first, I looked with some delight
On the sweet fields so green and gay,
When happy children passed along,
As merry as the birds in May.
“They laughed, they jumped, they climbed the hedge,
For flowers their pretty wreaths to twine,
And then they wandered through the fields,
To gather blackberries from the vine.
“I wept, that with such joyous sports
I never more could take a part;
Kind Peter saw how sad I felt,
And tried to cheer my heavy heart.
“He brought me berries from the vine,
He gathered daisies nice and sweet;
But on the flowers I could not look,
The blackberries I could not eat.
“Oh, turn, I said, and drive me home,
Each object gives my heart a pain,
And let me in my chamber hide,
And never see a coach again.”
Now, dear Melinda, do you wish
That you was Jennie Wright, to ride
In a new coach whene’er you please,
And have a servant at your side?
MELINDA.
Oh, no, indeed; for now, mamma,
I see how wicked I have been;
You spoke most truly when you said
That envy was an odious sin.
Poor Jennie Wright! how very strange
That I should think her proud or vain;
How wicked and unkind it was
For me to envy little Jane.
I shall feel thankful I can walk
Whene’er I chance a coach to meet;
Nor envy those again who ride,
So long as I can use my feet.
