Keep the tea bag in the water do not bother, Mr. Straughter; please make haste, and do not wander while I wonder for my daughter. 'tis my daughter, made me bitter as the tea which you've brought hither; stood there quaintly, er'eyes aglitter- crushed to death my apple fritter. "Nay, my fritter!" cried me thither leaped from out my sovereign litter; "Thou wench!" yelled I, "And now we bicker- What hath thou wrought upon my fritter!" Smiled, she did, and perked up slightly as though her thoughts came most forthrightly; Then she whistled, and turned politely- curtseyed then to me, most knightly. "Father," sweet words did emit from her chest, "is not it I whom you love best? E're some lowly pastry be blest when filling so evil land on thy breast?" "My daughter, my daughter," I began to contest but considered my anger, instead did repress; "My love for the sugar, for which I do wrest, cannot be compared to you, I attest." Her smile, it faded not from her face as approaching, she kissed my cheek with her grace; then turning, her hair flung as soft as her lace, did leave me to stand in gluttonous disgrace. Perched then I did, and to you spoke my creed that never again on fritters will I feed, for my daughter I love, and to this we agreed; from now on, Mr. Straughter, two lumps in my tea.