But there some friends, who long that hour had waited,
So long detain’d me, that my charioteer
Could drive that night but to Uttoxeter.
And there, the Wednesday being market-day,
I was constrain’d with some kind lads to stay,
Tippling till afternoon, which made it night,
When from my Hero’s Tower I saw the light
Of her flambeaux, and fancied, as we drave,
Each rising hillock was a swelling wave,
And that I swimming was, in Neptune’s spight,