Page:Poems, in two volumes (IA poemsintwovolume01word).pdf/98

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"What ails you, Child?" she sobb'd, "Look here!"I saw it in the wheel entangled,A weather beaten Rag as e'erFrom any garden scare-crow dangled,
'Twas twisted betwixt nave and spoke;Her help she lent, and with good heedTogether we released the Cloak;A wretched, wretched rag indeed!
"And whither are you going, Child,To night along these lonesome ways?""To Durham" answer'd she half wild—"Then come with me into the chaise."
She sate like one past all relief;Sob after sob she forth did sendIn wretchedness, as if her griefCould never, never, have an end.
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