And let the wheaten cake consummate all.
[4200]Nor will we manumiss these robes of state,
Within whose walls blest safety only dwells.
Lest our known faces, and apparel, prate
In louder echoes than the marriage bells.
Then say, fair lady, truth I do not jeer,
Will you be wedded to a scarleteer?'
Quoth she, with blushes carpeting her cheek,
'And is that question, prithee, yet to ask?
Your worth does merit the unequalled Greek,