194 WILL WATERPROOF'S LYRICAL MONOLOgue. Live long, ere from thy topmost head The thick-set hazel dies; Long, ere the hateful crow shall tread Live long, nor feel in head or chest Our changeful equinoxes, Till mellow Death, like some late guest, Shall call thee from the boxes. But when he calls, and thou shalt cease And, laying down an unctuous lease Of life, shall earn no more; No carved cross-bones, the types of Death, Shall show thee past to Heaven ; But carved cross-pipes, and, underneath, A pint-pot, neatly graven. LADY CLARE. LORD RONALD Courted Lady Clare, "He does not love me for my birth, Nor for my lands so broad and fair; He loves me for my own true worth, And that is well," said Lady Clare. In there came old Alice the nurse, Said, "Who was this that went from thee?" "It was my cousin," said Lady Clare, "To-morrow he weds with me." "O God be thank'd!" said Alice the nurse, "That all comes round so just and fair: Lord Ronald is heir of all your lands, And you are not the Lady Clare." "Are ye out of your mind, my nurse, my nurse ?” Said Lady Clare, " that ye speak so wild?" "As God's above!" said Alice the nurse, "I speak the truth: you are my child. "The old Earl's daughter died at my breast: I buried her like my own sweet child, "Falsely, falsely have ye done, O mother,” she said, "if this be true, To keep the best man under the sun So many years from his due.” "Nay now, my child," said Alice the nurse, "But keep the secret for your life, And all you have will be Lord Ronald's, "If I'm a beggar born," she said, 66 'Nay now, my child," said Alice the nurse, "But keep the secret all ye can." She said, "Not so: but I will know If there be any faith in man." 66 Nay now, what faith?" said Alice the nurse, "The man will cleave unto his right." "And he shall have it," the lady replied, "Though I should die to-night." "Yet give one kiss to your mother dear! Alas, my child, I sinn'd for thee." "O mother, mother, mother," she said, "So strange it seems to me. "Yet here's a kiss for my mother dear, She clad herself in a russet gown, Down stept Lord Ronald from his tower: 66 O Lady Clare, you shame your worth! Why come you dressed like a village maid, That are the flower of the earth?" |