So was forcibly hurried away
By an uniformed muscular brute.
Oh solitude! where is thy charm?
It’s certainly not in this place,
For my heart is filled with alarm
At the thought of a magistrate’s face.
I haven’t a friend to go bail;
I must drag out the night here, alone,
And it goes at the rate of a snail;
Was there ever so sad a wretch known.