Ben Nevis: A Dialogue

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AnadiL

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Nov 24, 2012
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There was one Mrs. Cameron of 50 years of age and the fattest woman in all Inverness-shire who got up this Mountain some few years ago -- true she had her servants -- but then she had her self. She ought to have hired Sisyphus, -- 'Up the high hill he heaves a huge round -- Mrs. Cameron.' 'Tis said a little conversation took place between the mountain and the Lady. After taking a glass of W[h]iskey as she was tolerably seated at ease she thus began --

Mrs. C.
Upon my Life Sir Nevis I am pique'd
That I have so far panted tugg'd and reek'd
To do an honour to your old bald pate
And now am sitting on you just to bate,
Without your paying me one compliment.
Alas 'tis so with all, when our intent
Is plain, and in the eye of all Mankind
We fair ones show a preference, too blind!
You Gentle man immediately turn tail --
O let me then my hapless fate bewail!
Ungrateful Baldpate have I not disdain'd
The pleasant Valleys -- have I not madbrain'd
Deserted all my Pickles and preserves
My China closet too -- with wretched Nerves
To boot -- say wretched ingrate have I not
Le[f]t my soft cushion chair and caudle pot.
'Tis true I had no corns -- no! thank the fates
My Shoemaker was always Mr. Bates.
And if not Mr. Bates why I'm not old!
Still dumb ungrateful Nevis -- still so cold!

Here the Lady took some more w[h]iskey and was putting even more to her lips when she dashed [it] to the Ground for the Mountain began to grumble -- which continued for a few minutes before he thus began,

Ben Nevis.
What whining bit of tongue and Mouth thus dares
Disturb my slumber of a thousand years?
Even so long my sleep has been secure --
And to be so awakened I'll not endure.
Oh pain -- for since the Eagle's earliest scream
I've had a dam[n]'d confounded ugly dream,
A Nightmare sure. What Madam was it you?
It cannot be! My old eyes are not true!
Red-Crag, my Spectacles! Now let me see!
Good Heavens Lady how the gemini
Did you get here? O I shall split my sides!
I shall earthquake -----

Mrs. C.
Sweet Nevis do not quake, for though I love
You[r] honest Countenance all things above
Truly I should not like to be convey'd
So far into your Bosom -- gentle Maid
Loves not too rough a treatment gentle Sir --
Pray thee be calm and do not quake nor stir
No not a Stone or I shall go in fits--
 
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