A Midsummer Tempest IX

We are still looking for verse in A Midsummer Tempest (London, 1975). I commend Rupert's italicised thoughts on p. 83 although I will not reproduce them here. Of course, verse and line endings are easier to identify when there are rhymes and the landlord of the Old Phoenix obliges us on p. 91:

"What may your wishes be? Nay, let me guess.
"Ye've fared through rain, in striving and distress.
"A bath, dry garb, hot food, a cup of cheer,
"A bed, then breakfast, ere you go from here."

Remember, Anderson wrote this as prose, complete with "The man nodded" before "What..." and "He raised a palm, smiling" before "Nay..." By omiting everything outside inverted commas and by starting a new line after every rhyme, I have extracted actual verse from apparent prose. How much of the book could be rewritten in this way, I am not sure but I have demonstrated enough here, including even a Shakespearean sonnet completely disguised and unrecognisable in the heroine's soliloquy on p. 31.

Someone said that words can be like clear glass through which we look at something else or like stained glass at which we look. Thus, A Midsummer Tempest is a stained glass novel.