The speaker slips away to Twickenham, a place that seems to offer quiet. He says twice that he went there, first to sit and then to think, and the repetition makes the trip sound like a small, deliberate act of retreat. He settles alone in a closet, which is a tiny, private space, and passes the time playing a flageolet, a little wind instrument.
The ending changes the tone. A bell-man comes by, ringing his bell, and the speaker leaves "my wife and the maid a-washing still." The last line is quietly comic. While he sits and plays music, the women are working, and he mentions it without apology or any sign of guilt. The mood is easygoing and gently ironic, and the old-fashioned wording adds to that. We're left wondering whether he is simply oblivious or knows exactly what he's doing. Either way, his peaceful afternoon is clearly paid for by someone else's labor.