Don't say, Sir, pray, that you've lost your way,—you, whom people so cosset and praise Sir.
You won't be hurried, and you can't be flurried, and you're always as cool as a cucumber.
Can a little 'un like me, your own child, don't you see, such a smart pioneer as are you cumber?
You, the modern Theseus? Where's your Ariadne? Oh, I know you are cool, and clever.
Yet I feel a doubt. When shall we get out?—which I can't go on wandering for ever!
Mazemaster loquitur:—
Poor little man! Yes, I had a plan, and a perfectly plain one, too, boy;
But—I fear—for a moment—I've—lost the clue! Ah! I'm awfully sorry for you boy!
You have been on your feet for a precious long time, and all this roundaboutation,
Is "plusquam-Thucydidean," perhaps, and at any rate mean aggravation.