And now we will show in what sort of condition
Her grace, who is eighty, returned from this mission.
The shades of night were falling fast,
As up a Mayfair street there passed
A carriage with this strange device
As crest:—A rampant cockatrice
And enfant or.
Within was seen an agèd dame,
Whose breath in gasps most frequent came;
Her face was white as Death’s own hue,