Of popping at partridge and pheasant,
Not worry, and Warton, and war.”
Then I said, “My dear Pussy, be sober!
Remember we’re bound to be here
By the end of the month of October,
Of this unforgettable year—
By the twenty-fourth day of October.
This very identical year.
Ha! doesn’t that make you feel queer?”
“We shall yet have to work, Puss, like winking.