This was too much! poor Villars left the inn,
To end the grief that did but then begin.
“With my Matilda in the coach!—what lies
Will the vile rascal in his spleen devise?
Yet this is true, that on some vile pretence 360
Men may entrap the purest innocence.
He saw my fears—alas! I am not free
From every doubt—but, no! it cannot be!”
Villars moved slow, moved quick, as check’d by fear
Or urged by Love, and drew his mansion near.