“O flower of Love, thou fragrant Rose
Thy love methinks should be
A balm to soothe all earthly woes
A sweetness that unfading blows
Through all eternity——
“Hum! ’Tis not so bad, though ’faith it might be better. That last line is something trite perhaps! Aye, I may better it with a little thought!”
“Nay—nay,’tis well as ’tis!” she exclaimed. “’Tis excellent, I ... ’deed, sir, I do think you’m a tur’ble clever gentleman!”
“Though no poet, Rose, I fear! So much for thy name! Now as to thyself. Thou’rt a woman and young, and hast therefore dreamed o’ love——”
“La, sir, how should’ee know that? ’Ee du make me blush!”
“And have you loved often, child?”