Really my Lady, such was not my Intent To be the Bordered Jack who ***** your Consent Your Basket remains yet much Food was Spent And yes - the Reason - it's Bottom was Rent Should we blame the Urchin? That I guess not The Market was charged in Prunes worth to Sell Else I peel each Fruit and leave it to Rot Then shoulder the Rage of not being well There She is: The only Unforeseen Truth Distempered with my Touch of Forks and lies Which I should have learned in her Peeling Youth: That a Prune once tasted tastes better with the Eye. All this I learned in a Lesson so Big That the Grape recovered was born a Fig.