She heard a key clink in the latch,
She went to take her spouse a light.
He cursed her first, and then the match.
A wretched life—no hope of change—
Even in her sleep she is forlorn,
In tears at night, in tears at morn
Like her within the “moated grange,”
She only said—“Dear John, I’m weary.
You break my heart,” she said—
He hiccuped forth—“Best not come near me,