To the Rev. A. A. in the Country From His Friend in London
Thou little village curate,
Come quick, and do not wait;
We’ll sit and talk together,
So sweetly _tete-a-tete_.
Oh do not fear the railway
Because it seems so big—
Dost thou not daily trust thee
Unto thy little gig.
This house is full of painters,
And half shut up and black;
But rooms the very snuggest
Lie hidden at the back.
Come! come! come!
