"Curst affecting!" said the Captain, applauding with thumping wine-glass.
"Od gentlemen," cried Sir Benjamin as Sir Jasper sank back in his chair, "I do protest 'tis very infinite tender! It hath delicacy, pathos and a rhythm entirely its own. Denholm, I felicitate you heartily! And now, Alvaston, we call upon you!"
His lordship arose, stuck out a slender leg, viewed it with lazy approval, and unfolding a paper, recited therefrom as follows:
"Let the bird sing on the bough
Th' ploughboy sing an' sweat
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!"