Horatio's servant once, with bow and cringe,
Swinging the parlour-door upon its hinge,
Dreading a negative, and overawed
Lest he should trespass, begged to go abroad.
"Go, fellow!--whither?"--turning short about--
"Nay. Stay at home; you're always going out."--
"'Tis but a step, sir; just at the street's end."
"For what?"--"An please you, sir, to see a friend."
"A friend!" Horatio cried, and seemed to start;
"Yea, marry shalt thou, and with all my heart--
And fetch my cloak, for though the night be raw
I'll see him too--the first I ever saw."

I knew the man, and knew his nature mild,
And was his plaything often when a child;
But somewhat at that moment pinched him close,
Else he was seldom bitter or morose.
Perhaps, his confidence just then betrayed,
His grief might prompt him with the speech he made;
Perhaps 'twas mere good-humour gave it birth,
The harmless play of pleasantry and mirth.
Howe'er it was, his language in my mind
Bespoke at least a man that knew mankind.

But not to moralise too much, and strain
To prove an evil of which all complain
(I hate long arguments, verbosely spun),
One story more, dear Hill, and I have done.
Once on a time, an emperor, a wise man.
No matter where, in China or Japan,