"None o' your French villainies, Ben," continued the Marquis, "we want nothing smacking o' the tap-room, the stable or the kennel, Ben, 'twon't do! We must ha' nought to cause the blush o' shame——"
"No, Ben," added Alvaston, "nor yet t' 'ffend th' chastest ear——"
"Od sir, od's body—I protest——"
"So none o' your villainies Ben," sighed Alvaston, "no looseness, coarseness, ribaldry or bawdry——"
"Blood and fury!" roared the exasperated Sir Benjamin, "I hope I'm sufficiently a man of honour——"
"Quite, Ben, quite—the very pink!" nodded his lordship affably. "And talkin' o' pink, the bottle stands, Marchdale! Fill, gentlemen. I give you Ben, our blooming Benjamin and no heel-taps!"
The health was drunk with acclaim and Sir Benjamin, once more his jovial and pompous self, proceeded:
"In writing these odes and sonnets we have all, I take it, depended upon our mother—hem! our mother-wit and each followed his individual fancy. I now take joy to summon Denholm to read to us his—ah—effort."
Sir Jasper rose, drew a paper from his bosom, sighed, languished with his soulful eyes and read:
"Groan, groan my heart, yet in thy groaning joy
Since thou'rt deep-smit of Venus' blooming boy;
Till Sorrow's flown
And Joy's thine own
Groan!"