I too have loved this hour, nor yet forgot Each joy domestic of my little cot. For at this hour my wife with watchful care Was wont each humbler dainty to prepare, The keenest sauce by hunger was supplied And my poor children prattled at my side. Methinks I see the old oak table spread, The clean white trencher and the good brown bread, The cheese my daily food which Mary made, For Mary knew full well the housewife's trade: The jug of cyder,--cyder I could make, And then the knives--I won 'em at the wake. Another has them now! I toiling here Look backward like a child and drop a tear. HUMPHREY: I love a dismal story, tell me thine, Meantime, good Will, I'll listen as I dine. I too my friend can tell a piteous story When I turn'd hero how I purchas'd glory. WILLIAM: But Humphrey, sure thou never canst have known The comforts of a little home thine own: A home so snug, So chearful too as mine, 'Twas always clean, and we could make it fine; For there King Charles's golden rules were seen, And there--God bless 'em both--the King and Queen. The pewter plates our garnish'd chimney grace So nicely scour'd, you might have seen your face; And over all, to frighten thieves, was hung Well clean'd, altho' but seldom us'd, my gun. Ah! that damn'd gun! I took it down one morn-- A desperate deal of harm they did my corn! Our testy Squire too loved to save the breed, So covey upon covey eat my seed. I mark'd the mischievous rogues, and took my aim, I fir'd, they fell, and--up the keeper came. That cursed morning brought on my undoing, I went to prison and my farm to ruin. Poor Mary! for her grave the parish paid, No tomb-stone tells where her cold corpse is laid! My children--my dear boys-- HUMPHREY: