This known, had answer’d, “So, my son, have I.” But Richard’s courage was by prudence taught, 270 And he his nymph in secret service sought. Some days of absence—not with full consent, } But with slow leave—were to entreaty lent; } And forth the Lover rode, uncertain what he meant. } He reached the dwelling he had known so long, When a pert damsel told him, “he was wrong; Their house she did not just precisely know, But he would find it somewhere in _the Row_; The Rayners now were come a little down, Nor more the topmost people in the town.” 280 She might have added, they their life enjoy’d, Although on things less hazardous employ’d. This was not much; but yet the damsel’s sneer, And the Row-dwelling of a lass so dear, Were somewhat startling. He had heard, indeed, That Rayner’s business did not well succeed: “But what of that? They lived in decent style, No doubt, and Phœbe still retain’d her smile; And why,” he asked, “should all men choose to dwell In broad cold streets?—the Row does just as well, 290 Quiet and snug;” and then the favourite maid Rose in his fancy, tastefully array’d, Looking with grateful joy upon the swain, Who could his love in trying times retain. Soothed by such thoughts, to the new house he came, Surveyed its aspect, sigh’d, and gave his name. But ere they opened, he had waited long, And heard a movement—Was there somewhat wrong? Nay, but a friendly party, he was told; } And look’d around, as wishing to behold 300} Some friends—but these were not the friends of old. } Old Peter Rayner, in his own old mode, Bade the Squire welcome to his new abode, For Richard had been kind, and doubtless meant To make proposals now, and ask consent. Mamma and misses, too, were civil all; But what their awkward courtesy to call, He knew not; neither could he well express His sad sensations at their strange address. And then their laughter loud, their story-telling, 310 All seem’d befitting to that Row and dwelling; The hearty welcome to the various treat Was lost on him—he could nor laugh nor eat. But one thing pleased him, when he look’d around, His clearest Phœbe could not there be found: “Wise and discreet,” he says, “she shuns the crew Of vulgar neighbours, some kind act to do; In some fair house, some female friend to meet, Or take at evening prayer in church her seat.” Meantime there rose, amid the ceaseless din, 320} A mingled scent, that crowded room within, } Rum and red-herring, Cheshire cheese and gin; } Pipes, too, and punch, and sausages, with tea, Were things that Richard was disturbed to see. Impatient now, he left them in disdain, To call on Phœbe, when he call’d again; To walk with her, the morning fair and bright, And lose the painful feelings of the night. All in the Row, and tripping at the side