JANE.
What makes you wear that muslin dress,
And such a strong, coarse leather shoe,
With cotton stockings, cambric gloves,
And such a coarse straw bonnet, too?
See here! my shoes are real kid;
Just look at them—see how they shine;
My stocking’s silk, my bonnet’s new,
And only see the straw, how fine!
Why, I should fret myself to death,
If I were dressed as mean as you;
I always cry and tease mamma
For everything I see that’s new.
MARY.
What! cry and tease your dear mamma
For finery? That would not I;
I would not grieve her for the world,
And she would grieve to see me cry.
She gives me everything she can,
And that is everything I want;
And I should be a wicked child,
To ask for more than she could grant.
But, Jane, from what you say yourself,
You’re never happy, and your pride
Is such, that, with this finery,
You never are quite satisfied.
JANE.
But what if there should be a ball,
And you should have a chance to go,
Where every one is richly dressed,
Would you appear among them so?