Which she sat, I’m afraid, not “aside” but “across;”
With one groom to attend her—
Nought else to defend her—
Like a “Young Lochinvar” of the feminine gender,
The ill-fated Yolenta rode off at a canter,
And became what the stockbrokers term “a levanter.”
Now you’ll please to suppose,
That she follow’d her nose,
A fine aquiline organ that proudly arose,
Filling just the right space