"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.