"You don't say so!" with joy, said he. "You're just the man I've longed to see For many years, but never yet Have one of your profession met. I have at home a curious tale,-- A legend, which, I much bewail, Has been by time or mice defaced, So much that parts are scarcely traced: My wish has been, a man to find Whose taste to poetry inclined, Who kindly would the remnants read And fill in where the sense may need-- A few words here--a passage there-- While now and then a page may share, Destruction's touch, and need much skill The space with likesome rhymes to fill. Though some expense th' improvements make, If you the task will undertake I care not, and with gladness will Repay you for your time and skill. Through circumstance unfortunate Destroyed have been the name and date (If any there have been), Yet still I traces here and there, Which seem upon the tale to bear, In many parts have seen. I have not quite decided yet, Whether to print it, or to let It still reside in ink. But you shall first the tale peruse (Unless the office you refuse); I'll hear then what you think." "With pleasure, sir, I will comply With your request; but really I Cannot with honesty deny My fear lest I should not supply The skill you need; but still will try, For now I have much leisure time, And love exploring ancient rhyme." With many thanks, he begg'd I'd with him dine. "Now do not, sir, from etiquette, decline, For afterwards together we will read The tale, and judge how it had best proceed. There's none but my housekeeper shares The meal with me, and she up-stairs Shall have her meat and pudding sent, If that robs me of your consent. Of course it is quite right of you To seek excuse, but make them few, I pray you, sir, for greatly I Prefer unformal courtesy. For what is fashion but a chain to bind The wretch called man with tortures of some kind,-- The small-toed shoe, to grind his very corns,-- The wasted waist, which age for ever mourns,-- The bulging sleeve, which dives in ev'ry dish, And trailing dress to raise the dust? I wish The world would wiser grow. But, what's more strange To me, is, though their fancies ever change (Which shows they never can perfection reach), They still their youth in _copy slips_ will teach That maxim immoral, you p'rhaps have heard them tell, That 'to be out of fashion, one might just as well Far out of the universe at a distance dwell.'