The Gaoler

"Stay, gaoler, stay, and hear my woe!

She is not mad who kneels to thee:

For what I'm now too well I know,

And what I was, and what should be.

I'll rave no more in proud despair;

My language shall be calm, though sad;

But yet I'll firmly, truly swear

I am not mad! I am not mad!

A tyrant husband forged the tale

Which chains me in this dreary cell;

My fate, unknown, my friends bewail --

Oh! gaoler, haste, that fate to tell.

Oh! haste, my father's heart to cheer;

That heart, at once, 'twill grieve and glad

To know, though kept a captive here,

I am not mad! not mad! not mad!"