LXXXIV.

"Farewell!" said Juan: "should we meet no more, I wish you a good appetite."--"Farewell!" Replied the other; "though it grieves me sore: When we next meet, we'll have a tale to tell: We needs must follow when Fate puts from shore. Keep your good name; though Eve herself once fell." "Nay," quoth the maid, "the Sultan's self shan't carry me, Unless his Highness promises to marry me."