My pen, I ween, would fail describe the maid,
But she with practised skill is trickéd out,
And that she pleaseth Lubin fair Chloe doth not doubt.
From train and chaise they run to where the sands
Invite the lovers—many joys be there.
They foot it to the strains of German bands,
And at time-honoured Punch and Judy stare.
The wheedling portrait-taker catcheth them,
Their likeness taketh, and their cash also;
The wily boatman useth stratagem,