Wood; "I'll not bear it. ‘Danged if I ever hear the like! A Frenchie is what you are, and there ain’t no granddaughter Charvill no more. The young lady—if she had come in here at all—had vanished. With his foodle doo! This carpenter he had a wife, The plague and torment of his life, Who, though she did her husband scold, Loved well a woollen-draper bold. In Wych Street Owen Wood did dwell; A carpenter he was by trade, And money, I believe, he made. In a moment, Roding and Lucilla joined him. .
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