Might give her pleasure—very like it might, And she might go; but, to his house restored, He would not now be catechised and bored.”— 290 “It was her duty”—“Well!” said he again, “There you may go—and there you may remain!” Already this?—Even so: he heard it said How rash and heedless was the part he play’d; For love of money in his spirit dwelt, And there repentance was intensely felt. His guardian told him he had bought a toy At tenfold price, and bargain’d like a boy; Angry at truth, and wrought to fierce disdain, He swore his loss should be no woman’s gain; 300 His table she might share, his name she must; But if aught more—she gets it upon trust. For a few weeks his pride her face display’d— He then began to thwart her, and upbraid; He grew imperious, insolent, and loud— His blinded weakness made his folly proud; He would be master—she had no pretence To counsel him, as if he wanted sense; He must inform her, she already cost More than her worth, and more should not be lost; 310 But still concluding, “if your will be so That you must see the old ones, do it—go!” Some weeks the Doctor waited, and the while His lady preach’d in no consoling style; At last she fear’d that rustic had convey’d Their child to prison—yes, she was afraid,— There to remain in that old hall alone With the vile heads of stags, and floors of stone. “Why did you, sir, who know such things so well, And teach us good, permit them to rebel? 320 Had you o’erawed and check’d them when in sight, They would not then have ventured upon flight— Had you”——“Out, serpent! did not you begin? What! introduce, and then upbraid, the sin? For sin it is, as I too well perceive; But leave me, woman, to reflection leave; Then to your closet fly, and on your knees Beg for forgiveness for such sins as these.” “A moody morning!” with a careless air Replied the wife—“Why counsel me to prayer? 330 I think the lord and teacher of a school Should pray himself, and keep his temper cool.” Calm grew the husband when the wife was gone— “The game,” said he, “is never lost till won. ’Tis true, the rebels fly their proper home, They come not nigh, because they fear to come; And for my purpose fear will doubtless prove Of more importance and effect than love.— Suppose me there—suppose the carriage stops: Down on her knees my trembling daughter drops; 340 Slowly I raise her, in my arms to fall, And call for mercy as she used to call; And shall that boy, who dreaded to appear Before me, cast away at once his fear? ’Tis not in nature! He who once would cower Beneath my frown, and sob for half an hour; He who would kneel with motion prompt and quick If I but look’d—as dogs that do a trick; He still his knee-joints flexible must feel, And have a slavish promptitude to kneel; 350 Soon as he sees me he will drop his lip,