If all is well, ere I my way pursue.— How fare you, landlord?—how, my friend, are all— Have you not seen—my people at the Hall? Well, I may judge?——” “Oh! yes, your Honour, well, As Joseph knows; and he was sent to tell.”— “How? sent?—I miss’d him—Joseph, do you say? Why sent, if well?—I miss’d him on the way.” There was a poacher on the chimney-seat, 320 A gipsy, conjuror, smuggler, stroller, cheat. The Squire had fined him for a captured hare, Whipp’d and imprison’d—he had felt the fare, And he remember’d: “Will your Honour know How does my Lady? that myself can show. On Monday early—for your Honour sees The poor man must not slumber at his ease, Nor must he into woods and coverts lurk, Nor work alone, but must be seen to work: ’Tis not, your Honour knows, sufficient now 330 For us to live, but we must prove it—how. Stay, please your Honour—I was early up, And forth without a morsel or a sup. There was my Lady’s carriage—Whew! it drove As if the horses had been spurr’d by Love.” “A poet, John!” said Villars—feebly said, Confused with fear, and humbled and dismay’d— “And where this carriage?—but, my heart! enough— Why do I listen to the villain’s stuff?— And where wert thou? and what the spur of thine 340 That led thee forth?—we surely may divine!” “Hunger, your Honour! I and my poor wife Have now no other in our wane of life. Were Phœbe handsome, and were I a Squire, I might suspect her, and young Lords admire.”— What, rascal!——”—“Nay, your Honour, on my word, I should be jealous of that fine young Lord; Yet him my Lady in the carriage took, But innocent—I’d swear it on the book.”— “You villain, swear!”—for still he wish’d to stay, 350 And hear what more the fellow had to say.— “‘Phœbe,’ said I, ‘a rogue that had a heart To do the deed would make his Honour smart.’— Says Phœbe, wisely, ‘Think you, would he go, If he were jealous, from my Lady?—No.’” This was too much! poor Villars left the inn, To end the grief that did but then begin. “With my Matilda in the coach!—what lies Will the vile rascal in his spleen devise? Yet this is true, that on some vile pretence 360 Men may entrap the purest innocence. He saw my fears—alas! I am not free From every doubt—but, no! it cannot be!” Villars moved slow, moved quick, as check’d by fear Or urged by Love, and drew his mansion near. Light burst upon him, yet he fancied gloom, Nor came a twinkling from Matilda’s room.— What then? ’tis idle to expect that all Should be produced at jealous fancy’s call; How! the park-gate wide open! who would dare 370 Do this, if her presiding glance were there? But yet, by chance—I know not what to think, For thought is hell, and I’m upon the brink! Not for a thousand worlds, ten thousand lives, Would I——Oh! what depends upon our wives! Pains, labours, terrors, all would I endure,