Till, dazed and bewildered, my eyesight grows dim,
And my head, throbbing wildly, commences to swim.
'Twere folly and madness to try any more,
I know what I'll do—in a letter to-day
I will just tell her plainly how utterly vainly
I've striven and struggled to finish her play;
And then—happy thought!—I will mildly suggest
That she'll find for her purpose BUCHANAN the best.
I shall now write a play without dresses at all,
A plan, which I'm sure will be perfectly new.