“Not on the necks of prince or hound, Nor on a woman’s finger twin’d, May gold from the deriding ground Keep sacred that we sacred bind Only the heel Of splendid steel Shall stand secure on sliding fate, When golden navies weep their freight. “The scarlet hat, the laurell’d stave Are measures, not the springs, of worth; In a wife’s lap, as in a grave, Man’s airy notions mix with earth. Seek other spur Bravely to stir The dust in this loud world, and tread Alp-high among the whisp’ring dead. “_Trust in thyself_,—then spur amain: So shall Charybdis wear a grace, Grim Aetna laugh, the Lybian plain Take roses to her shrivell’d face. This orb—this round Of sight and sound— Count it the lists that God hath built For haughty hearts to ride a-tilt. “FINIS-Master Tucker’s Farewell.” “And a very pretty moral on four gentlemen that pass their afternoon a setting snails to race!” At these words, spoken in a delicate foreign voice we all started round: and saw a young lady standing behind us. Now that she was the one who had passed us in the coach I saw at once. But describe her—to be plain—I cannot, having tried a many times. So let me say only that she was the prettiest creature on God’s earth (which, I hope, will satisfy her); that she had chestnut curls and a mouth made for laughing; that she wore a kirtle and bodice of grey silk taffety, with a gold pomander-box hung on a chain about her neck; and held out a drinking glass toward us with a Frenchified grace. “Gentlemen, my father is sick, and will taste no water but what is freshly drawn. I ask you not to brave Charybdis or Aetna, but to step out into the rainy yard and draw me a glassful from the pump there: for our servant is abroad in the town.” To my deep disgust, before I could find a word, that villainous old pickpocket had caught the glass from her hand and reached the door. But I ran after; and out into the yard we stepp’d together, where I pump’d while he held the glass to the spout, flinging away the contents time after time, till the bubbles on the brim, and the film on the outside, were to his liking. ’Twas he, too, that gain’d the thanks on our return. “Mistress,” said he with a bow, “my young friend is raw, but has a good will. Confess, now, for his edification—for he is bound on a long journey westward, where, they tell me, the maidens grow comeliest—that looks avail naught with womankind beside a dashing manner.” The young gentlewoman laughed, shaking her curls.