"My father," said she, with much complacent good-nature--for she had got into the way of talking to this young gentleman with a marvellous absence of restraint or country shyness, "hath a tankard of great age and value, and on the silver top of it is a tribute engraved from many of his friends--truly I would that you could come and see it, good sir--and--and--my father, too, he would make you welcome, I doubt not. And what book is it," she continued, with a smile, "that you have for companion, seeing that there be no she shepherd for you to converse withal?"
"'Tis but a dull affair," said he, scarce looking at it, for Judith's eyes were more attractive reading. "And yet if the book itself be dull, there is that within its boards that is less so. Perchance you have not heard of one Master Browne, a young Devonshire gentleman, that hath but late come to London, and that only for a space, as I reckon?"
"The young man hath made some stir with his poems," he continued, "though there be none of them in the booksellers' hands as yet. And as it hath been my good fortune to see one or two of them--marry, I am no judge, but I would call them excellent, and of much modesty and grace--I took occasion to pencil down a few of the lines inside the cover of this little book. May I read them to you Mistress Judith?"
He opened the book, and she saw that there were some lines pencilled on the gray binding; but they must have been familiar to him, for he scarce took his eyes from Judith's face as he repeated them.
"They are a description," said he, "of one that must have been fair indeed:
'Her cheeks, the wonder of what eye beheld, Begot betwixt a lily and a rose, In gentle rising plains divinely swelled, Where all the graces and the loves repose, Nature in this piece all her works excelled, Yet showed herself imperfect in the close, For she forgot (when she so fair did raise her) To give the world a wit might duly praise her.
'When that she spoke, as at a voice from heaven, On her sweet words all ears and hearts attended; When that she sung, they thought the planets seven By her sweet voice might well their tunes have mended; When she did sigh, all were of joy bereaven; And when she smiled, heaven had them all befriended: If that her voice, sighs, smiles, so many thrilled, Oh, had she kissed, how many had she killed!'"