Leonato: By my troth, niece, thou wilt never get thee a husband, if thou be so shrewd of thy tongue.

There is a dale in Ida, lovelier / Than any in old Ionia, beautiful / With emerald slopes of sunny sward, that lean / Above the loud glenriver, which hath worn / A path thro' steepdown granite walls below / Mantled with flowering tendriltwine.

On to the back page, and Walter is walking the fields after school, clutching his teddy: 'I've made up another poem. Perhaps I'll be poet laureate one day!': Oh, sweet and cuddly darling Teddy, You keep me cosy in my beddy.

Where, then, is the road to peace?