No sentiment could have been more congenial to those who had been listening to Colonel Lunford's song. For it was this man of infamous memory who had been addressed as "Sir Thomas." He had late received knighthood from his King; such being the sort Kings delight to honour, now as then. And among the _convives_ was a King's son, the embryo "Merry Monarch," taking lessons in that reprobacy he afterwards practised to the bestrumpetting England from lordly palace to lowly cot. It was not he, however, who had complimented Lunsford on his vocal abilities; the "Highness" being his cousin, Prince Rupert, in whose quarters they were carousing; the place Bristol; the time some weeks subsequent to the taking of Monmouth by Massey. But the occasion which had called them together was to celebrate a success on the opposite side; its re-capture by the Royalists, for Monmouth had been retaken. A sad mischance for the Parliamentarians; through no fault of Kyrle, who, on active duty, was away from it, but the _lache_ of one Major Throgmorton, left in temporary charge. Riotous with delight were they assembled within Rupert's quarters. They had that day received the welcome intelligence, and were in spirit for unrestrained rejoicing. Ever since Marston Moor the King's cause had been suffering reverses; once more the tide seemed turning in its favour. But nothing of war occupied their thoughts now; the victory on the Wye had been talked over, the victors toasted, and the subject dismissed for one always uppermost at a Cavalier carousal. Several songs had been already sung, but that of Lunsford--so indecent, that only the chorus can be here given--tickled the fancies of all, and an _encore_ was demanded. A demand with which the festive Lunsford readily complied, and the ribald refrain once more received uproarious plaudits. "Now, gentlemen!" said the host, on silence being restored, "fill again! We've but toasted the wenches in a general way. I'm going to propose one in particular, whom you'll all be eager to honour. A fascinating damsel, who, if I'm not mistaken, Cousin Charles, has put a spell upon your young heart." "Ha-ha!" smirked the precocious reprobate, in a semi-protesting way. "You _are_ mistaken, coz. None of womankind can do that." "Ah! if your Royal Highness has escaped her witcheries, you're one of the rare exceptions. _Mein Gott_! she has turned the heads of more than half my young officers, and commands them as much as I do myself. Well, she's worthy of obedience, if beauty has the right to rule, and we Cavaliers cannot deny it that. So let us drink to her!"