80
THE RACE
His wild oats for her sake; yet he delays,
And with my Lady Bond divides his days.
Who bets on beauty, hedges in on age;
Which tries the flight to perch in Lord Wynne's cage?
Will Lady Bond or Clara be the queen?
For Lady Bond is certain of her lien."
He heard this talk while standing by a beech—
Hugh Wynne—and planned how he might overreach
Gilbert and Clara, break the pride of both,
Part them for good, or make them plight their troth.
"Now for a race," he cried, "to Martin's Mill;
The boats are here; behold, the lake is still.
Here, Gilbert, take your oar; I 'll follow soon,
Though sunset 's nigh—to-night is harvest-moon.
And with my Lady Bond divides his days.
Who bets on beauty, hedges in on age;
Which tries the flight to perch in Lord Wynne's cage?
Will Lady Bond or Clara be the queen?
For Lady Bond is certain of her lien."
He heard this talk while standing by a beech—
Hugh Wynne—and planned how he might overreach
Gilbert and Clara, break the pride of both,
Part them for good, or make them plight their troth.
"Now for a race," he cried, "to Martin's Mill;
The boats are here; behold, the lake is still.
Here, Gilbert, take your oar; I 'll follow soon,
Though sunset 's nigh—to-night is harvest-moon.
