E’en seized his boots, and said with subtle sneer,
          Your feet, by walking, won’t the worse appear;
          Then sought a diff’rent road by rapid flight,
          And, presently the knaves were out of sight;
          While Reynold still with stockings, drawers, and shirt,
          But wet to skin, and covered o’er with dirt: 
          (The wind north-east in front—­as cold as clay;)
          In doleful dumps proceeded on his way,
          And justly feared, that spite of faith and prayer,
          He now should meet, at night, with wretched fare.

          However, some pleasing hopes he still had yet,
          That, from his cloak-bag, he some clothes might get;
          For, we should note, a servant he had brought,
          Who in the neighbourhood a farrier sought. 
          To set a shoe upon his horse, and then
          Should join his master on the road agen;
          But that, as we shall find, was not the case,
          And Reynold’s dire misfortune thence we trace. 
          In fact, the fellow, worthless we’ll suppose,
          Had viewed from far what accidents arose,
          Then turned aside, his safety to secure,
          And left his master dangers to endure;
          So steadily be kept upon the trot,
          To Castle-William, ere ’twas night, he got,
          And took the inn which had the most renown;
          For fare and furniture within the town,
          There waited Reynold’s coming at his ease,
          With fire and cheer that could not fail to please. 
          His master, up to neck in dirt and wet,
          Had num’rous difficulties o’er to get;
          And when the snow, in flakes obscured the air,
          With piercing cold and winds, he felt despair;
          Such ills he bore, that hanging might be thought
          A bed of roses rather to be sought. 
          Chance so arranges ev’ry thing around
          all good, or all that’s bad is solely found;
          When favours flow the numbers are so great,
          That ev’ry wish upon us seems to wait;
          But, if disposed, misfortunes to bestow;
          No ills forgot:  each poignant pang we know. 
          In proof, attend my friends, this very night,
          The sad adventures that befell our wight,
          Who, Castle-William did not reach till late,
          When they, an hour or more, had shut the gate.

          Atlength our traveller approached the wall,
          And, somehow to the foot contrived to crawl;
          A roofed projection fortune led him near,
          That joined a house, and ’gan his heart to cheer. 
          Delighted with the change he now had got,
          He placed himself upon the sheltered spot;
          A lucky hit but seldom comes alone;
          Some straw, by chance, was near the mansion thrown,
          Which Reynold ’neath the jutting penthouse placed
          There, God be praised, cried he, a bed I’ve traced.