"Drink? Stuff and fiddlesticks," you cry,
Matron reader with flashing eye:
"Isn't the thing completely his,
His wife, his mistress, whatever you please?
Look at her! Dragons and fountains! Absurd!"
Madam, I bow to every word;
But truth is truth, and cannot fail,
And this is quite a veracious tale.
More like a couple of lovers shy,
Who flush and flutter when folk are by,