XLVII

5 0 00

XLVII

Whereat a narrow Flemish glass he took,

That since belong’d to Admiral De Witt,

Admired it with a connoisseuring look,

And with the ripest claret crowned it,

And, ere the lively head could burst and flit,

He turn’d it quickly, nimbly upside down,

His mouth being held conveniently fit

To catch the treasure: “Best in all the town!”

He said, smack’d his moist lips, and gave a pleasant frown.