Besides, you know, you wrote her there--
MYSELF: She came--before I was aware--
GILL: She couldn't, father, for just think,
You've made her all of pen and ink.
So you, of course, can make her do
Exactly as you want her to.
MYSELF: Dear innocent! You little know
The trials poor authors undergo.
How heroines, when they break loose,
Are apt to play the very deuce,
Dragging their authors to and fro,
And where he wills--they will not go.
GILL: Well, since she's here, please let her be,
She wants to set Duke Joc'lyn free.
MYSELF: Enough--enough, my plans are made,
I'll set him free without her aid,
And in a manner, I apprise you,
As will, I fancy, quite surprise you.
Besides, a dungeon no fit place is
For a dainty lady's graces.
So, since she's in, 't is very plain
I now must get her out again.
"To bide in Canalise,'t is folly!" cried Hugo. "O,'t were a madness fond!"
"Aye," sighed Jocelyn, "some do call love a madness--thus mad am I,
forsooth!"
"Hush!" whispered Hugo, as from without came the tramp of heavy feet.
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