People seldom read this wise, tender, and sweet-voiced old fellow now; so I will even copy the verses I found for John to read.
"Here is the place.

Thyrsis is just ending his 'broken lay.' 'Lest that the stealing night his later song might stay--'" "Stop a minute," interrupted John.

"Apropos of 'stealing night,' the sun is already down below the yew-hedge.

Are you cold ?" "Not a bit of it." "Then we'll begin:-- 'Thrice, oh, thrice happy, shepherd's life and state: When courts are happiness, unhappy pawns!' That's not clear," said John, laying down the book.

"Now I do like poetry to be intelligible.