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For our instruction, exile hath its value.
It is an old French air I learned in Paris.
Ormond [shaking his head.]I fear the soldier 'll stop the comely page
For good and all!
Broghill. [glancing at his song.
For good and all! The rest is over leaf.
[He holds out his hand to Lord Ormond.
Good! ever foremost at the post!—Our friends?—
Would you have liked it better had I writ:—

A soldier stern of eye,
Detains as he passes by,
A page of roguish bearing,—

Instead of:—

A soldier, stern-faced wight,
A page detains one night,
A page, etc.

The repetition of "a page" hath charm,
Is it not so? The French—
Ormond. Is it not so? The French— A truce, my lord.
I have not wit enough to judge your talent.
Rochester.But I esteem you a most worthy judge.
And for a proof thereof I'll read to you
A new quatrain.
[He rises and begins in a dramatic tone.
A new quatrain. "O fair Egeria!"
[He interrupts himself.
I pray thee, guess to whom it is addressed.
Ormond.My lord, the time to jest, meseems, has passed.
[Aside.
God's blood! Charles is no less insane than he
To send him to me!