“Oh! yes, your Honour, well,
As Joseph knows; and he was sent to tell.”—
“How? sent?—I miss’d him—Joseph, do you say?
Why sent, if well?—I miss’d him on the way.”
There was a poacher on the chimney-seat, 320
A gipsy, conjuror, smuggler, stroller, cheat.
The Squire had fined him for a captured hare,
Whipp’d and imprison’d—he had felt the fare,
And he remember’d: “Will your Honour know
How does my Lady? that myself can show.