And ride as straight as an arrow where the boldest well might flinch.
When a lad he had climbed yon headland, climbed it from base to crest,
For a short-frocked hussy who wanted the eggs from a seagull’s nest.
One winter he went to London—he then was about forty-three;
His steward had told the parson he’d lawyers in town to see.
’Twas dull in the place without him, for his mansion was Liberty Hall;
There was always a warm, wet welcome for neighbors who chose to call.
He was gone for a twelvemonth nearly, writing to no old friends,
But a Devonshire man in London news to the parson sends.
Sir Rupert had married a madam, a play-acting, mincing wench,