LXXIX
“She cried for chess—I play’d a game with her—
Castled her king with such a vixen look,
It bodes ill to his Majesty—(refer
To the second chapter of my fortieth book,
And see what hoity-toity airs she took).
At half-past four the morn essay’d to beam—
Saluted, as we pass’d, an early rook,—
The Princess fell asleep, and, in her dream,
Talk’d of one Master Hubert, deep in her esteem.