Faltered. A female in a wig
Stood by me, and a drouthy voice
Announced her--Mrs. Betsy Prig.


2. THE CAUDLE

Sweet Love that sways the reeling years,
The crown and chief of certitudes,
For whose calm eyes and modest ears
Time writes the rule and text of prudes--
That, surpliced, stoops a nuptial head,
Nor chooses to live blindly free,
But, with all pulses quieted,
Plays tunes of domesticity--
That Love I sing of and have sung
And mean to sing till Death yawn sheer,
He rules the music of my tongue,
Stills it or quickens, there or here.
I say but this: as we went up
I heard the Monthly give a sniff
And "_if_ the big dog makes the pup--"
She murmured--then repeated "if!"
The caudle on a slab was placed;
She snuffed it, snorting loud and long;
I fled--I would not stop to taste--
And dreamed all night of things gone wrong.


3. THE SENTENCES