And they hied on and there was nothing doing;
When I was sick of counting dud by dud
Bearing I know not whom—or coarse carousers,
Or damsels fairer than the moss-rose bud—
And still more sick at having bits of mud
Daubed on my new dress-trousers;
I went to dinner by the Underground
And every time the carriage stopped or started
Clung to my neighbour very tightly round
The neck till at Sloane Square his collar parted.