Not a saint his heart could harden, thus so sweetly
ask'd for pardon:—
I suck'd in the obvious crammer kindly as my mother's
milk.
Soh! (I said)—and then forgave her: and she promised
to behave her—
Self in future like an angel (which she did, and show'd
her wings)
And I fancied yestermorning (fool) that my reward was
dawning,—