FOOTNOTES:
But do not think I shall explain
To any great extent. Believe me,
I partly write to give you pain,
And if you do not like me, leave me.
And least of all can you complain,
Reviewers, whose unholy trade is,
To puff with all your might and main
Biographers of single ladies.
[C] Never mind.
The plan forgot (I know not how,
Perhaps the Refectory filled it),
To put a chapel in; and now
We’re mortgaging the rest to build it.
[E] To be pronounced as a monosyllable in the Imperial fashion.
[F] Mr Punt, Mr Howl, and Mr Grewcock (now, alas, deceased).