Page:The Works of the Rev. Jonathan Swift, Volume 8.djvu/227

 He trembles at the thoughts of state; For, conscious of his sheepish gait, His spirits of a sudden fail'd him; He stopp'd, and could not tell what ail'd him. What was the message I receiv'd? Why certainly the captain rav'd? To dine with her! and come at three! Impossible! it can't be me. Or may be I mistook the word; My lady — it must be my lord. My lord's abroad; my lady too: What must th' unhappy doctor do? "Is captain Cracherode here, pray?" — "No." "Nay, then 'tis time for me to go." Am I awake, or do I dream? I'm sure he call'd me by my name; Nam'd me as plain as he could speak; And yet there must be some mistake. Why, what a jest should I have been, Had now my lady been within! What could I've said? I'm mighty glad She went abroad — she'd thought me mad. The hour of dining now is past: Well then, I'll e'en go home and fast; And, since I 'scap'd being made a scoff, I think I'm very fairly off. My lady now returning home, Calls, "Cracherode, is the doctor come?" He had not heard of him — "Pray see, 'Tis now a quarter after three." The captain walks about, and searches Through all the rooms, and courts, and arches; Examines all the servants round, In vain — no doctor's to be found. My