Star of my nativity, hide beneath a cloud, while I reveal it!
Ancestors of Delamore, lie low in your wormy beds, that no posthumous hearing catch a sound!
Let no eye look over thee, while thou shalt peruse it, reader!
Once————
these legs, with Kent in the play, though for far less ennobling considerations, did wear "cruel garters."
Yet I protest it was but for a thing of nought—a fault of youth, and warmer blood—a calendary inadvertence I may call it—or rather a temporary obliviousness of the day of the week—timing my Saturnalia amiss.——
Streets of Barnet, infamous for civil broils, ye saw my shame!—did not your Red Rose rise again to dye my burning cheek?
It was but for a pair of minutes, or so—yet I feel, I feel, that the gentry of the Delamores is extinguished for ever.——
Try to forget it, reader.——
(Signed) Henry Francis Vere Harrington
Delamore.