Phyllis, without replying, raised it to her lips and drank deep. The
swain watched anxiously.

''Ere, give us a chanst!' he said, as the pot was raised higher and
higher and its contents appeared to be getting less and less.

At this the amorous shepherdess stopped and handed the pot to her
lover.

'Well, I'm dashed!' said Corydon, looking into it; and added: 'I guess
you know a thing or two.' Then with courtly grace putting his own lips
to the place where had been those of his beloved, finished the pint.

'Go' lumme!' remarked the shepherdess, smacking her lips, 'that was
somethin' like!' And she put out her tongue and licked her lips, and
then breathed deeply.

The faithful swain having finished, gave a long sigh, and said:

'Well, I could do with some more!'

'For the matter of thet, I could do with a gargle!'

Thus encouraged, the gallant returned to the bar, and soon brought out
a second pint.

'You 'ave fust pop,' amorously remarked Phyllis, and he took a long
drink and handed the pot to her.