The road then turn’d, and lo! his house in sight.
“‘Adieu!’ he said, nor gave a word or sign
Of invitation—‘Yonder house is mine;
Your brother’s I prefer, if I might choose—
But, my dear sir, you have no time to lose.’
“Say, is he poor? or has he fits of spleen?
Or is he melancholy, moped, or mean?
So cold, so distant——I bestow’d some pains
Upon the fever in my Irish veins.”—
“Well, Richard, let your native wrath be tamed; 40