Of Backy for to blow!
No pinch or draught drive care abaft
From folks a cup too low,
Like the joys, my brave boys!
When we a cloud do blow.
A penny-postman-like rap at the caravan door was answered by the great Tragedian with
“'Open locks whoever knocks!'” And, as the unexpected visitor became visible, he added, “Tom Titlepage! as thou art Tom, welcome; but as thou art Tom and a boon companion, ten times welcome!”
The Publisher's compromised dignity looked a trifle offended. He did not half relish being treated so familiarly.
“An infernal business this, Mr. Bigstick! The devil waits—the press stands still!”
“And why Tom, don't you? Here's a joint stool; sit down and quaff out of Lady Macbeth's gilt goblet. Egad you and the devil are in the nick of time to listen to and carry away such a Chapter of—”