If it does, we are likely to be got hold of, and lugged away to the altar--the terminus.

That foul disaster has happened, through our having temporarily yielded to a fit of the dumps and treated a mad world's lunatic issue with some seriousness.
But fun shall be had with the aid of His Highness below.

The madder the world, the madder the fun.

And the mixing in it of another element, which it has to beguile us--romance--is not at all bad cookery.

Poetic romance is delusion--a tale of a Corsair; a poet's brain, a bottle of gin, and a theatrical wardrobe.