21 6 EVOLUTION AND SOCIAL PROGRESS 



Here hung those lips that I have kissed I know not how 

 oft. Where be your gibes now? your gambols? your 

 songs? your flashes of merriment, that were wont to set 

 the table on a roar? Not one now to mock your own 

 grinning? quite chap-fallen? Now get you to my lady s 

 chamber, and tell her, let her paint an inch thick, to this 

 favour she must come ; make her laugh at that 



