[pulls out a paper] the haſte in which it was written. I heard the news in the fields—always have paper and a pencil about me, and compoſed the whole forty lines croſſing the meadows and the park in my way home, [reads.]
And lofty ſtrains prepare,
About a Baron and a Count,
Who went to hunt the hare.
The hare ſhe ran with utmoſt ſpeed,
And ſad, and anxious looks,
Becauſe the furious hounds indeed,
Were near to her, gadzooks.
At length, the Count and Baron bold
Their footſteps homeward bended;
For why, becauſe, as you were told,
The hunting it was ended.
Before them ſtrait a youth appears,
Who made a piteous pother,
And told a tale with many tears,
About his dying mother.
The youth was in ſevere diſtrefs,
And ſeem’d as he had ſptnt all,
He look’d a ſoldier by his dreſs;
For that was regimental.
The Baron’s heart was full of ruth,
While from his eye fell brine o!
And ſoon he gave the mournful youth
A little ready rino.
He gave a ſhilling as I live,
Which, ſure, was mighty well;
