Some kinder sprite knocks softly at my soul,[196]
And gently whispers it to haste away.
I come, I come, most willingly I come.
So when some city wife, for country air,
To Hampstead or to Highgate does repair,
Her to make haste her husband does implore,
And cries, "My dear, the coach is at the door:"
With equal wish, desirous to be gone,
She gets into the coach, and then she cries—"Drive on!"
Thumb. With those last words he vomited his soul,[197]