At last came in sight the half-way house, where the horses were to have a rest and a sponge down. They had been talking of it for the last quarter of a mile, and when at length it was observed on the top of a hill a cheer broke out, and some thirsty wag began to sing 'Rule Britannia', whilst others burst forth with a different national ditty, 'Beer, Glorious Beer!' They drew up before the pub entrance, and all climbed down as quickly as they could. The bar was besieged, and potmen and barmaids were quickly busy drawing beer and handing it over to the eager folk outside.
THE IDYLL OF CORYDON AND PHYLLIS.
Gallantry ordered that the faithful swain and the amorous shepherdess should drink out of one and the same pot.
''Urry up an' 'ave your whack,' said Corydon, politely handing the foaming bowl for his fair one to drink from.
Phyllis, without replying, raised it to her lips and drank deep. The swain watched anxiously.
''Ere, give us a chanst!' he said, as the pot was raised higher and higher and its contents appeared to be getting less and less.
At this the amorous shepherdess stopped and handed the pot to her lover.
'Well, I'm dashed!' said Corydon, looking into it; and added: 'I guess you know a thing or two.' Then with courtly grace putting his own lips to the place where had been those of his beloved, finished the pint.
'Go' lumme!' remarked the shepherdess, smacking her lips, 'that was somethin' like!' And she put out her tongue and licked her lips, and then breathed deeply.