Page:Verses–Blanche·Baughan-1898.pdf/144

 With wind of so fair promise, answer’d quick, “Worship I owe her, and a boon beside Have I to beg.”

“What is your boon?” “Fair maid, Have done with teasing! Prithee, show me her! The boon imports thee nothing.”

“How, fair Sir! How should I grant it, then? Down on your knees! I thought in kindness to award the boon, Waiving the worship. Since you will not—why, Long worship scarce will win that boon, methinks!” O treacherous wind! What hidden reef was this? Was it the mist wrought so bewilderingly? He stood confused. But Riance chirrup’d on, Flouting, and fleering, yet in all her ways Sweet as a wagtail on the briny beach: