But, while I can, I will avow
Th' charms o' lovely Bet.
Let----"

"Hold!" commanded Sir Benjamin.

"Stop!" cried the Marquis. "Strike me everlastingly blue but I've got
'sweat' demme!"

"'S'heart, so have I!" exclaimed Mr. Marchdale with youthful
indignation.

"Burn me!" sighed Alvaston, "seems we're all sweating! 'S unfortunate,
curst disquietin' I'll admit, though I only sweat i' the first verse.
Le' me go on:"

"Let the parson----"

"Hold!" repeated Sir Benjamin. "Desist, Alvaston, I object to sweat,
sir!"

"An' very natural too, Ben--Gad, I'll not forget you at th' churn! But
to continue:"

"Let the parson pray----"

"Stay!" thundered Sir Benjamin. "Alvaston, sweat shall never do!"

"Why, Ben, why?"

"Because, first 'tis not a word poetic----"

"But I submit 'tis easy, Ben, an' very natural! Remember the churn
Ben, the churn an' le' me get on. Faith! here we're keepin' my
misfortunate parson on his knees whiles you boggle over a word! 'Sides
if my 'sweat' 's disallowed you damn Alton and Marchdale unheard!"

Hereupon, while Sir Benjamin shook protesting head, his lordship
smoothed out his manuscript, frowned at it, turned it this way, turned
it that, and continued:

"Let the parson pray and screech----"

"No, demme, 'tisn't 'screech'--here's a blot! Now what th' dooce--ha,
'preach' t' be sure----"

"Let the parson pray and preach
And fat preferments get
But, so long as I have speech--
I'll sing the charms o' Bet.

"Let the----"

"By th' way I take liberty t' call 'tention t' the fact that I begin
'n' end each canto wi' the same words, 'let' 'n' 'Bet.'"

"Let th' world go--round an' round
The day be fine or wet,
Take all that 'neath th' sun is found
An' I'll take lovely Bet."

"Bravo Bob! Bravo! Simple and pointed! Haw!" quoth the Captain,
hammering plaudits with his wine-glass again.

"'Tis not--not utterly devoid o' merits!" admitted Sir Benjamin
judicially.

"Thank'ee humbly, my Benjamin!"

"Nay, but it hath points, Alvaston, especially towards the finality,
though 'tis somewhat reminiscent of Mr. Waller."

"How so, sweet Ben?"

"In its climacteric thus, sir:"

"Give me but what this ribband bound
Take all the rest the sun goes round."

"Egad Ben, I've never read a word o' the fool stuff in my life, so
you're out there, burn me! And the bottle roosts with you, Alton.
Give it wings. Major d'Arcy sir--with you