That's shaking it:
He's getting desperate—bolting it slap dash—
A decent mouthful for a throat not big.
Now here's a pretty lesson for all sinners,
Hunger's the sauce to sweeten Christmas dinners.
The fire burns blue—the nearest part gets roasted—
The "off-side" suffers in the frigid zone;
Just like a slice of bread that's been half toasted—
One spot is brown'd—the other cold as stone.
The winds are hoarse, the sun gets shy and cool,