Yet ev’n (as you wittily say) a tee-totum
Between all its twirls gives a letter to note ’em.
But, Lord, such a place! and then, Dolly, my dresses,
My gowns, so divine!—there’s no language expresses,
Except just the words “superbe,” “magnifique,”
The trimmings of that which I had home last week!
It is call’d—I forget—à la—something which sounded
Like alicampane—but, in truth, I’m confounded
And bother’d, my dear, ’twixt that troublesome boy’s
(Bob’s) cookery language, and Madame Le Roi’s: