IV.

Evening threw soberer hue Over the blue sky, and the few Poplars that grew just in the view Of the hall of Sir Hugo de Wynkle: “Answer me true,” pleaded Sir Hugh, ( Striving to woo no matter who,) “What shall I do, Lady, for you? ‘ Twill be done, ere your eye may twinkle. Shall I borrow the wand of a Moorish enchanter, And bid a decanter contain the Levant, or The brass from the face of a Mormonite ranter? Shall I go for the mule of the Spanish Infantar - ( That R, for the sake of the line, we must grant her,) - And race with the foul fiend, and beat in a canter, Like that first of equestrians Tam o’ Shanter? I talk not mere banter — say not that I can n't, or By this MY FIRST — ( a Virginia planter Sold it me to kill rats ) — I will die instanter.” The Lady bended her ivory neck, and Whispered mournfully, “Go for — MY SECOND.” She said, and the red from Sir Hugh's cheek fled, And “Nay,” did he say, as he stalked away The fiercest of injured men: “Twice have I humbled my haughty soul, And on bended knee I have pressed MY WHOLE - But I never will press it again!”