"But she is so young," protested the widow. "Not more than fifteen or at the most seventeen."
"To you, madam, deaf to Love's alarms, for evermore protected against his showered darts, such precocious ardour must appear improbable, but I have proof of its existence."
"Malicious tongues! The world is so censorious. It would destroy the reputation of the mother by insinuations against the virtue of the child."
"Madam, pray allow me to narrate the unhappy but indisputable facts of the affair. You must know that it is a part of my duties—a pleasant part, if I may say so without undue want of reserve—to inspect Curtain Garden from time to time. You will recollect that this forenoon we enjoyed for two hours a glimpse of the sun. Having been kept indoors during the last two or three days, I determined to seize the balmy occasion and perform my rural duties. I observed that the spring bulbs were remarkably forward. I noticed with pleasant anticipation of summer saunters that the paths were in good order, the gravel free from weeds. From the main Promenade I turned into the Maze."
The widow started.
"The yew hedges were neatly trimmed and I noticed some very good examples of topiary; I may mention in particular the transformation of the old Noah into a peacock whose tail will doubtless gain a more vigorous plumage from the warm weather. I wandered along contemplating the various greens of the mosses that adorn the path and muffle the footsteps in a manner extremely suitable to the decorous quiet of the surroundings. During my saunters, I delight to rest my mind with the recitation of the Odes and Epodes of my poetick and pre-Christian namesake. I was embarked upon the apostrophe to Lyce:
| Nec Coæ referunt jam tibi purpuræ |
| Nec clari lapides tempora, quæ semel |
| Notis condita fastis |
| Inclusit volucris dies. |
"I had got so far, but egad! I could get no farther for the life of me. I repeated the last four lines, and in my attempts to catch the fugitive—Ah!" cried the Beau, "I have it!"
| Quo fugit Venus? Heu quove color? decens |
| Quo motus? |
or to paraphrase with an extempore couplet,