One morning, at the season of Clear Weather,
As I sat alone in my Tea-House of the Refined White Lily,
A stranger of affable address approached me,
And showed me, with a multitude of argument,
To what advantage I should come
Were I to place the whole of my substance with him,
Even to my shirt,
As a token of my faith in Ice Cream Cornet for the Lincolnshire.
And because I would not do so,
He withdrew himself from me as from one of mean birth and behaviour,
Reviling me with the name of "No-Sport,"
And other characters of opprobrium.
But this person told him
That he carried always on written leaves
The words of his august father,
Concerning horses and women, and the wind in the hills
and the hooting of owls.
He did not tell him that he knew full well
That Ice Cream Cornet was a non-starter for the Lincolnshire.