Oh my dear, it was too, too dreadful!
Mortal mind can scarce conceive –
At least, not yours, darling Vi,
Yours would have shrunk. Violets do shrink,
It’s an immutable law, like death, or gravity,
Or who sits to the left of the Bishop.
“Bother immutability” that silly boy would say,
And therein lies the drastic horror of the thing,
For Pongo positively pushed it this time!
Doubtless the dear old Duchess toot sweet
Snipped him merrily from the Will, singing
“Cold porridge to primogeniture!” So you see,
I simply had to pop back the jolly old ring
And hoof it hotfoot before the bean began blubbing.
It’s a rotten sausage, but there it is.
Now, do try one of mine – they’re Turkish.