He said he was jealous, and craved something to ease his care. 'It's but a small thing I ask,' says he, 'but it will make me a happy man, and nothing ever shall come atween us. Tryst wi' me for Beltane's E'en on the Sker sands, at the green link o' the burn where the sands begin, on the ebb o' the tide when midnight is by, but afore cockcrow. For,' said he, 'that was our forbears' tryst for true lovers, and wherefore no for you and me?'

We shall resume our studies later on; but just now I am tired of playing the preceptor; and the eager thirst of my pupils for improvement does not console me for the slowness of their progress.

1695, C[harles] A[lphonse] du Fresnoy, “Good verse recess and solitude requires.”, in John Dryden, transl., De Arte Graphica. The Art of Painting,[…], London: […] J[ohn] Heptinstall for W. Rogers,[…], OCLC 261121781:

Amid a gleaming clutter of burners and spectroscopes, funnels and flasks, centrifugal and Soxhlet extractors […] , serious girls with their hair in snoods entered numbers into log books