When up comes one whose name I scarcely knew:
“Ah, dearest of dear fellows, how d’ye do?”
He grasped my hand: “Well, thanks; the same to you.”
Then, as he still kept walking by my side,
To cut things short, “You’ve no commands?” I cried.
“Nay, you should know me; I’m a man of lore.”
“Sir, I’m your humble servant all the more.”
All in a fret to make him let me go,
I now walk fast, now loiter and walk slow,
Now whisper to my servant, while the sweat