Around the uncle in a ring they came,
And mark'd his look of mingled pride and shame.
"Now honestly, good Gilbert, tell us true
What meant this cudgel? What was it to do?
I know your heart suspected me of wrong,
And that most true affection urg'd along
Your feelings and your wrath; you were beside
Till now the rightful guardian of the bride.
But why this cudgel?"--"Guardian! that's the case,
Or else to day you had not seen my face,
But John about the girl was so perplex'd,
And I, to tell the truth, so mortal vex'd,
That when he broke _this crutch_, and stampt and cried,
For John and Peggy, Sir, I could have died,
I know I could; for she was such a child,
So tractable, so sensible, and mild,
The plain Truth.
That if between you roguery had grown,
(Begging your pardon,) 'twould have been your own;
She would not hurt a fly.--So off I came
And had you only sought to blast her fame,
Been base enough to act as hundreds would,
And ruin a poor maid--because you _could_,
With this same cudgel, (you may smile or frown)
An' please you, Sir, I meant to knock you down.
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