“He’d draw his hat down o’er his prying eyes,
“Or with a handkerchief his visage screen,
“Like one who fear’d a capture by surprise.
“One night we miss’d him in his usual seat,
“We searched both kitchen and the scullery;
“We search’d again, nor in his old retreat,
“Nor at the Tun, nor at the Bell was he.
“At length a letter to discovery led,
“With separate notice serv’d at each friend’s door
“Reminding his creditors he was not dead,