Come then and press the cup, she said,
Come then and press the primrose wild.
'Now,' cried Stuart, 'I can give you a poem, with just as much love in it, and twice as much kissing.'
'That,' said I, 'would be a treasure indeed.'
He then began thus:
TO SALLY
Dawn with stains of ruddy light,
Streaks her grey and fragrant fingers,
While the Ethiop foot of night,
Envious of my Sally, lingers.