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.
