And he saw that his wife was injured, and her tender bones were crushed.
No trace of the lady’s gallant; he’d limped to a horse and flown:
Sir Rupert and “Polly Peachum” were there on the heights alone.
He leaped on the gallant hunter; took his wife in his brawny arms,
And galloped across the country to one of his tenants’ farms.
For six long months my lady hovered ’twixt death and life—
’Twas a surgeon who came from London that saved Sir Rupert’s wife—
And when she was out of danger it was known she was marked and maimed,
A battered, misshapen cripple, distorted and scarred and lamed.
But Sir Rupert clung closer to her; they traveled from place to place,