Or, at any rate, when it's more early than late,
Pray remember the coachman, who, fitfully yawning
Outside in the street, finds it weary to wait.
You reck not at all of the hours that are fleeting,
You ask for an "extra"—you can't be denied.
But though, doubtless, soft nothings may set your heart beating,
Yet they're awfully cold for the people outside.
Want of thought, not of heart, is the reason as ever,
So if you find leisure to read through this rhyme,
When you order your carriage, in future endeavour