Tenderly kneeling, thus will I complain: 
      Thus court her pity; and thus plead my pain: 
      Thus sigh for fancy’d frowns, if frowns should rise;
      And thus meet favour in her soft’ning eyes.

In this manner entertained I myself till I arrived at Smith’s; and there the fellows set down their gay burden.  Off went their hats; Will. ready at hand in a new livery; up went the head; out rushed my honour; the woman behind the counter all in flutters, respect and fear giving due solemnity to her features, and her knees, I doubt not, knocking against the inside of her wainscot-fence.

Your servant, Madam—­Will. let the fellows move to some distance, and wait.

You have a young lady lodges here; Miss Harlowe, Madam:  Is she above?

Sir, Sir, and please your Honour:  [the woman is struck with my figure, thought I:] Miss Harlowe, Sir!  There is, indeed, such a young lady lodges here—­But, but—­

But, what, Madam?—­I must see her.—­One pair of stairs; is it not?—­ Don’t trouble yourself—­I shall find her apartment.  And was making towards the stairs.

Sir, Sir, the lady, the lady is not at home—­she is abroad—­she is in the country—­

In the country!  Not at home!—­Impossible!  You will not pass this story upon me, good woman.  I must see her.  I have business of life and death with her.

Indeed, Sir, the lady is not at home!  Indeed, Sir, she is abroad!—­

She then rung a bell:  John, cried she, pray step down!—­Indeed, Sir, the lady is not at home.

Down came John, the good man of the house, when I expected one of his journeymen, by her saucy familiarity.

My dear, said she, the gentleman will not believe Miss Harlowe is abroad.

John bowed to my fine clothes:  Your servant, Sir,—­indeed the lady is abroad.  She went out of town this morning by six o’clock—­into the country—­by the doctor’s advice.

Still I would not believe either John or his wife.  I am sure, said I, she cannot be abroad.  I heard she was very ill—­she is not able to go out in a coach.  Do you know Mr. Belford, friend?

Yes, Sir; I have the honour to know ’Squire Belford.  He is gone into the country to visit a sick friend.  He went on Saturday, Sir.

This had also been told from thy lodgings to Will. whom I sent to desire to see thee on my first coming to town.

Well, and Mr. Belford wrote me word that she was exceeding ill.  How then can she be gone out?

O Sir, she is very ill; very ill, indeed—­she could hardly walk to the coach.

Belford, thought I, himself knew nothing of the time of my coming; neither can he have received my letter of yesterday:  and so ill, ’tis impossible she would go out.

Where is her servant?  Call her servant to me.

Her servant, Sir, is her nurse:  she has no other.  And she is gone with her.