But to Newmarket he engaged to ride With his friend Clubb:" and there he stopp'd and sigh'd. Awhile the tender creature look'd dismay'd, Then floods of tears the call of grief obeyed: - "She an objection! No!" she sobb'd, "not one: Her work was finish'd, and her race was run; For die she must--indeed she would not live A week alone, for all the world could give; He too must die in that same wicked place; It always happen'd--was a common case; Among those horrid horses, jockeys, crowds, 'Twas certain death--they might bespeak their shrouds. He would attempt a race, be sure to fall - And she expire with terror--that was all; With love like hers she was indeed unfit To bear such horrors, but she must submit." "But for three days, my love! three days at most," "Enough for me; I then shall be a ghost." "My honour's pledged!"--"Oh! yes, my dearest life, I know your honour must outweigh your wife; But ere this absence have you sought a friend? I shall be dead--on whom can you depend? Let me one favour of your kindness crave, Grant me the stone I mention'd for my grave." "Nay, love, attend--why, bless my soul! I say I will return--there, weep no longer, nay!" "Well! I obey, and to the last am true, But spirits fail me; I must die; adieu!" "What, Madam! must?--'tis wrong--I'm angry--zounds Can I remain and lose a thousand pounds?" "Go then, my love! it is a monstrous sum, Worth twenty wives--go, love! and I am dumb; Nor be displeased--had I the power to live, You might be angry, now you must forgive: Alas! I faint--ah! cruel--there's no need Of wounds or fevers--this has done the deed." The lady fainted, and the husband sent For every aid--for every comfort went; Strong terror seized him: "Oh! she loved so well, And who th' effect of tenderness could tell?" She now recover'd, and again began With accent querulous--"Ah! cruel man!" Till the sad husband, conscience-struck, confess'd, 'Twas very wicked with his friend to jest; For now he saw that those who were obey'd, Could like the most subservient feel afraid: And though a wife might not dispute the will Of her liege lord, she could prevent it still. The morning came, and Clubb prepared to ride With a smart boy, his servant, and his guide; When, ere he mounted on his ready steed, Arrived a letter, and he stopped to read. "My friend," he read, "our journey I decline, A heart too tender for such strife is mine; Yours is the triumph, be you so inclined; But you are too considerate and kind: In tender pity to my Juliet's fears I thus relent, o'ercome by love and tears; She knows your kindness; I have heard her say, A man like you 'tis pleasure to obey: Each faithful wife, like ours, must disapprove Such dangerous trifling with connubial love; What has the idle world, my friend, to do With our affairs? they envy me and you: What if I could my gentle spouse command - Is that a cause I should her tears withstand? And what if you, a friend of peace, submit