I’m sure I’d rather be
In a small bed at liberty.”
Isabella would seem to have restored her soon again, however, for we learn from a later poem:—
“When cold as clay when cold as ice
To get into a bed tis nice
It is a nice thing for to creep
But not to dose away and sleep
Into a bed where Isa lies
And to my questions she replies
Corrects my faults improves my mind