ENVOI

_And now the merry way we took Is nothing but a printed book;

We would you had been really there, Out with us in the open air—

For, after all, the best of words Are but a poor exchange for birds.

Yet if, perchance, this book of ours Should sometimes make you think of flowers,

Orchards and barns and harvest wain, "It was not written all in vain—"

So authors used to make their bow, As, Gentle Reader, we do now_.