"Why, my love," said my lady, "the weather is hot,
Suppose we drive round by the water,—
The water,—
Suppose we drive round by the water."
The dinner was ended, the claret was "done,"
The knight getting up—getting down was the sun,—
And my lady agog for heart-slaughter;
When Sir Tilbury, lazy, like cows after grains,
Said, "The weather is lowering, my love; see, it rains,—
Only look at the drops in the water,—