| Hunt and Lee, comps. The Book of the Sonnet. 1867. | | | | VI. At the Aust Ferry Hotel | | By John Watson Dalby |
| | | O DAINTY diamond-ornamented fingers, | |
| Puzzling plain folks, and leading some astray | |
| Who pore o’er panes where the inscription lingers | |
| Recording jovial rest, or anxious stay, | |
| I rather wish your Latin were away, | 5 |
| Although the epigrams are obvious stingers; | |
| And the fine Roman hand—it makes one say, | |
| Was ’t Coleridge, Southey, Lamb—was ’t one of Earth’s fine singers? | |
| “One touch,” et cætera;—banter as they may, | |
| We see ourselves in him who could not pass | 10 |
| Nor leave remembrance of himself some way, | |
| Though ’t were but on the fragile face of glass. | |
| And who this mild ambition would gainsay | |
| In my opinion writes himself an ass! | | | | |
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