“‘You may tire of the gaol and the workhouse,
And take to allotments and schools,
But you’ve run up a debt that will never
Be repaid us by penny-club rules.
‘“In the season of shame and sadness,
In the dark and dreary day
When scrofula, gout, and madness,
Are eating your race away;
“‘When to kennels and liveried varlets
You have cast your daughters’ bread;
And worn out with liquor and harlots,
Your heir at your feet lies dead;
“‘When your youngest, the mealy-mouthed rector,
Lets your soul rot asleep to the grave,
You will find in your God the protector
Of the freeman you fancied your slave.”
‘She looked at the tuft of clover,
And wept till her heart grew light;
And at last, when her passion was over,
Went wandering into the night.
‘But the merry brown hares came leaping
Over the uplands still,
Where the clover and corn lay sleeping
On the side of the white chalk hill.’
‘Surely, sir,’ said Lancelot, ‘you cannot suppose that this latter part applies to you. or your family?’
‘If it don’t, it applies to half the gentlemen in the vale, and that’s just as bad. What right has the fellow to speak evil of dignities?’ continued he, quoting the only text in the Bible which he was inclined to make a ‘rule absolute.’ ‘What does such an insolent dog deserve? What don’t he deserve, I say?’
‘I think,’ quoth Lancelot, ambiguously, ‘that a man who can write such ballads is not fit to be your gamekeeper, and I think he feels so himself;’ and Lancelot stole an encouraging look at Tregarva.
‘And I say, sir,’ the keeper answered, with an effort, ‘that I leave Mr. Lavington’s service here on the spot, once and for all.’