Some three months later, Raleigh's widow came To lodge a se'nnight at the Mermaid Inn. His house in Bread Street was no more her own, But in the hands of Stukeley, who had reaped A pretty harvest ... She kept close to her room, and that same night, Being ill and with some fever, sent her maid To fetch the apothecary from Friday Street, Old "Galen" as the Mermaid christened him. At that same moment, as the maid went out, Stukeley came in. He met her at the door; And, chucking her under the chin, gave her a letter. "Take this up to your mistress. It concerns Her property," he said. "Say that I wait, And would be glad to speak with her." The wench Looked pertly in his face, and tripped upstairs. I scarce could trust my hands. "Sir Lewis," I said, "This is no time to trouble her. She is ill." "Let her decide," he answered, with a sneer. Before I found another word to say The maid tripped down again. I scarce believed My senses, when she beckoned him up the stair. Shaking from head to foot, I blocked the way. "Property!" Could the crux of mine and thine Bring widow and murderer into one small room? "Sir Lewis," I said, "she is ill. It is not right! She never would consent." He sneered again, "You are her doctor? Out of the way, old fool! She has decided!" "Go," I said to the maid, "Fetch the apothecary. Let it rest With him!" She tossed her head. Her quick eyes glanced, Showing the white, like the eyes of a vicious mare. She laughed at Stukeley, loitered, then obeyed.