By gazing on her features crimsoned high
By a long cow-chase in July.
“Are you from Acton, pretty lass?” he cried;
“Yes”—with a courtesy she replied.
“Why, then, you know the laundress, Sally Wrench?”
“Yes, she’s my cousin, sir, and next-door neighbor.”
“That’s lucky—I’ve a message for the wench
Which needs despatch, and you may save my labor.
Give her this kiss, my dear, and say I sent it:
But mind, you owe me one—I’ve only lent it.”