"Thy husband—poor, poor Heart!—is dead—
       &nbsp Dead, out by Moreford Rise;
A bull escaped the barton-shed,
       &nbsp Gored him, and there he lies!"

- "Ha, ha—go away! 'Tis a tale, methink,
       &nbsp Thou joker Kit!" laughed she.
"I've known thee many a year, Kit Twink,
       &nbsp And ever hast thou fooled me!"

- "But, Mistress Damon—I can swear
       &nbsp Thy goodman John is dead!
And soon th'lt hear their feet who bear
       &nbsp His body to his bed."

So unwontedly sad was the merry man's face -
       &nbsp That face which had long deceived -
That she gazed and gazed; and then could trace
       &nbsp The truth there; and she believed.

She laid a hand on the dresser-ledge,
       &nbsp And scanned far Egdon-side;
And stood; and you heard the wind-swept sedge
       &nbsp And the rippling Froom; till she cried:

"O my chamber's untidied, unmade my bed
       &nbsp Though the day has begun to wear!
'What a slovenly hussif!' it will be said,
       &nbsp When they all go up my stair!"
She disappeared; and the joker stood
       &nbsp Depressed by his neighbour's doom,
And amazed that a wife struck to widowhood
       &nbsp Thought first of her unkempt room.

But a fortnight thence she could take no food,
       &nbsp And she pined in a slow decay;
While Kit soon lost his mournful mood
       &nbsp And laughed in his ancient way.