Explore "The Babe, B. A" by E.F. Benson on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
Lo, when an oyster, succulent and tender, Leagued with lemon, courted by cayenne, Makes its inevitable sweet surrender, Delicately dies, it knows not why or when, --
"Could aught atone? " pathetically asked he, He whom ye wot, to find that unaware Oysters would be indubitably nasty, Natives or not, because July is here? ST. SWITHIN.