There 's no unwinding? You entoil my legs,
And welcome, for I like it: blind me,—no!
A very pretty piece of shuttle-work
Was that—your mere chance question at the club—
'Do you go anywhere this Whitsuntide?
I'm off for Paris, there 's the Opera—there 's
The Salon, there 's a china-sale,—beside
Chantilly; and, for good companionship,
There 's Such-and-such and So-and-so. Suppose
We start together?' 'No such holiday!'