LXXIX

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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.