You would not justly call the light unkind:
But is he dead? and am I to suppose
The power of poison in such looks as those?”
She spoke, and pointing to the mirror, cast
A pleased gay glance, and curtsied as she pass’d.
My Lord, to whom the poet’s fate was told,
Was much affected, for a man so cold:
“Dead!” said his lordship, “run distracted, mad!
Upon my soul I’m sorry for the lad;
And now no doubt th’ obliging world will say