He rose and bowed; but peremptorily refused it, with his tongue--his eye drank it.
"But you must," persisted this hospitable lady.
"But, madam, consider I am not entitled to--Nectar, as I am a man!" The white hand was filling his plate with partridge pie: "But, madam, you don't consider how you overwhelm me with your--Ambrosia, as I am a poet!" "I am sorry Mr.Vane should keep you waiting." "By no means, madam; it is fortunate--I mean, it procures me the pleasure of" (here articulation became obstructed) "your society, madam.
Besides, the servants of the Muse are used to waiting.

What we are not used to is" (here the white hand filled his glass) "being waited upon by Hebe and the Twelve Graces, whose health I have the honor "-- (Deglutition).
"A poet!" cried Mabel; "oh! I am so glad! Little did I think ever to see a living poet! Dear heart! I should not have known, if you had not told me.

Sir, I love poetry!" "It is in your face, madam." Triplet instantly whipped out his manuscript, put a plate on one corner of it, and a decanter on the other, and begged her opinion of this trifle, composed, said he, "in honor of a lady Mr.Vane entertains to-day." "Oh!" said Mrs.Vane, and colored with pleasure.

How ungrateful she had been! Here was an attention!--For, of course, she never doubted that the verses were in honor of her arrival.
"'Bright being--'" sang out Triplet.
"Nay, sir," said Mabel; "I think I know the lady, and it would be hardly proper of me--" "Oh, madam!" said Triplet, solemnly; "strictly correct, madam!" And he spread his hand out over his bosom.

"Strictly!--'Blunderbuss' (my poetical name, madam) never stooped to the taste of the town.
'Bright being, thou--'" "But you must have another glass of wine first, and a slice of the haunch." "With alacrity, madam." He laid in a fresh stock of provisions.
Strange it was to see them side by side! _he,_ a Don Quixote, with cordage instead of lines in his mahogany face, and clothes hanging upon him; _she,_ smooth, duck-like, delicious, and bright as an opening rose fresh with dew! She watched him kindly, archly and demurely; and still plied him, countrywise, with every mortal thing on the table.
But the poet was not a boa-constrictor, and even a boa-constrictor has an end.