As her free bounty sought the haunts of grief; 240 A plain and homely charity had she, And loved the objects of her alms to see; With her own hands she dress’d the savoury meat, With her own fingers wrote the choice receipt; She heard all tales that injured wives relate, And took a double interest in their fate; But of all husbands not a wretch was known So vile, so mean, so cruel, as her own. This bounteous lady kept an active spy, To search th’ abodes of want, and to supply; 250 The gentle Susan served the liberal dame-- Unlike their notions, yet their deeds the same: No practised villain could a victim find, Than this stern lady more completely blind; Nor (if detected in his fraud) could meet One less disposed to pardon a deceit; The wrong she treasured, and on no pretence Received th’ offender, or forgot th’ offence; But the kind servant, to the thrice-proved knave A fourth time listen’d, and the past forgave. 260 First in her youth, when she was blithe and gay, Came a smooth rogue, and stole her love away; Then to another and another flew, To boast the wanton mischief he could do. Yet she forgave him, though so great her pain, That she was never blithe or gay again. Then came a spoiler, who, with villain-art, Implored her hand, and agonized her heart; He seized her purse, in idle waste to spend With a vile wanton, whom she call’d her friend; 270 Five years she suffer’d--he had revell’d five-- Then came to show her he was just alive; Alone he came, his vile companion dead, And he, a wand’ring pauper, wanting bread; His body wasted, wither’d life and limb, When this kind soul became a slave to him. Nay, she was sure that, should he now survive, No better husband would be left alive; For him she mourn’d, and then, alone and poor, Sought and found comfort at her lady’s door: 280 Ten years she served, and, mercy her employ, Her tasks were pleasure, and her duty joy. Thus lived the mistress and the maid, design’d Each other’s aid--one cautious, and both kind. Oft at their window, working, they would sigh To see the aged and the sick go by; Like wounded bees, that at their home arrive, Slowly and weak, but labouring for the hive. The busy people of a mason’s yard The curious lady view’d with much regard; 290 With steady motion she perceived them draw Through blocks of stone the slowly-working saw; It gave her pleasure and surprise to see Among these men the signs of revelry; Cold was the season, and confined their view, Tedious their tasks, but merry were the crew. There she beheld an aged pauper wait, Patient and still, to take an humble freight; Within the panniers on an ass he laid