In the corner stood the Tankard, where it oft had stood before,—
Stood and muttered, “Pay your score!”
Much I marvelled at this pewter, surely ne’er in past or future
Has been, will be, such a wonder, such a Tankard learned in lore!
Gazing at it more intensely, stared I more and more immensely
When it added, “Come, old boy, you’ve many a promise made before,—
False they were as John O’Connell’s, who would ‘die upon the floor!’
Now for once—come, pay your score!”
From my placid temper starting, and upon the Tankard darting,
With one furious hurl I flung it down before the porter’s door;