And if, my friend, you’d have it end,
    There’s naught to hear or tell.
But need you try to black my eye
    In wishing me farewell?

Though I admit an edgèd wit
    In woe is warranted,
May I be frank? . . . Such words as “——”
    Are better left unsaid.

There’s rosemary for you and me;
    But is it usual, dear,
To hire a man, and fill a van
    By way of souvenir?