In henly meditation, bullet free.
My father had a daughter got a man,
As it might be, perhaps, were I good looking,
I should, your lordship.
And what’s her residence?
A hut, my lord, she never owned a house,
But let her husband, like a graceless scamp,
Spend all her little means,—she thought she ought,—
And in a wretched chamber, on an alley,