No droplet of the draught: so,—pinch your nose,
Pull no wry faces!—drain it to the dregs!
I say 'She went off'—'went off,' you subjoin,
'Since not to wedded bliss, as I supposed,
Sure to some convent: solitude and peace
Help her to hide the shame from mortal view,
With prayer and fasting.' No, my sapient Sir!
Far wiselier, straightway she betook herself
To a prize-portent from the donkey-show
Of leathern long-ears that compete for palm