We only give three verses of the eleven, being as much, we think, as our readers could submit to with patience.
How a girl of any spirit could forgive a lover for thus exposing their private affairs, and how a girl of any artistic appreciation conld forgive a lover such bad verses, and take him back into her good graces, is more than we can understand. Mrs. Kemble, her mother, seemed to take the most correct view of the situation, for, instead of excusing "the first product" of the luckless poet, "his merits tho' small," she amply rewarded with a ringing box on the ears as he left the stage.
Jones, a member of Roger Kemble's company, preserved some verses written by Sarah to her lover, which show her to be as superior to him in taste and poetic perception, as she afterwards proved herself in dramatic power:—
Say not, Strephon, I'm untrue,
When I only think of you;
If you do but think of me
As I of you, then shall you be
Without a rival in my heart,
Which ne'er can play a tyrant's part.
Trust me, Strephon, with thy love—
I swear by Cupid's bow above,
Nought shall make me e'er betray
Thy passion till my dying day:
If I live, or if I die,
Upon my constancy rely.
Siddons sufficiently relied on her constancy, in spite of his statements to "ye ladies of Brecon," to suggest to his beloved an immediate elopement, which suggestion she, as Campbell quaintly puts it, "tempering amatory with filial duty," politely declined, and her lover left.
