"Gentlemen," he said, "be seated all, I pray. My lord, your chair is at my right. Enough of the past. We are here to enjoy the present hour, which is always with us and always flying from us. We crown it with flowers and honour it with libations: we sing its presence with us: we welcome its coming, and speed its parting with wine and song. So far are we pagans: join with us in these heathen rites wherein we rejoice in our life and forget our mortality. None but poets are immortal. Solomon--Solomon Stallabras, the modern Apollo, the favourite of the Nine, we drink your health and wish the long deferring of your immortality. Let us drink, let us talk, let us be merry, let us while away the rosy hours." He banged the table with his fist and set the glasses clinking. Then he filled a glass with punch and handed it to Lord Chudleigh. "As for you, Sir Miles," he said, "you may help yourself. Ah, tippler! the blush of the bottle is already on thy cheeks and its light is in thy eyes. Wherefore, be moderate at the outset. Roger, thou villain, go order another bowl, and after that more bowls, and still more bowls. I am athirst: I shall drink continually: I shall become this night a mere hogshead of punch. So will all this honourable company; bid the vintner beware the lemon and be sparing of the sugar, but liberal with the clove and the nutmeg. This night shall be such a night as the Rules have never before seen. Run, rogue, run!" Roger vanished. "Let me sing you, my lord, a song of my youth when nymphs and shepherdesses ran in my head more than Hebrew and theology." He sang in his rich, full, and musical voice, the following ditty: "Cried the nymph, while her swain Sought for phrases in vain, 'Ah, Corydon, let me a shy lover teach; Your flowers and rings, Your verses and things, Are pretty, but dumb, and I love a bold speech. "'To dangle and sigh, To stammer and cry, Such foolishness angers us maidens in time: And if you would please, Neither tremble nor tease, But remember to woo us with laughter and rhyme. "'Go, hang up thy crook, Change that sorrowful look And seek merry rhymes and glad sayings in verse: Remember that Kitty Rhymes still unto pity, And Polly takes folly for better or worse. "'Come jocund and gay, As the roses in May, With a rolling leg and a conquering smile: Forget not that mirth Ever rhymes unto worth, And lucky the lover who laughs all the while.'" "I wrote the song," said the Doctor, "when it was the fashion to be sighing at the feet of Chloe. Not that my song produced any impression on the fashion. Pray, my lord, is it the custom, nowadays, to woo with a long face and a mournful sigh?" Lord Chudleigh laughed and put the question by.