I am full of jest at bottom,
Most of all when we’re alone.
I am forced by my position
To assume a solemn mask.
Duties of the day constrain me;
All the reckonings and worry
That I have with one and all,
Make me oft a cross-grained prophet;
But it’s only from the tongue out.—
Fudge, avaunt! En tête-à-tête