That thou in a kettle thyself should’st settle,
When grandly and gaudily all arrayed!
Thy flounces ’ill foul and fangles fade.
Come out, and Algernon Charles ’ill roll
Thee safe and snug in Plutonian plaid—
Hush thee, hush thee, dear little soul.
Envoi.
When nap is none and raiment frayed,
And winter crowns the puddered poll,
A kettle sings ane soote ballade—