’Twas a balmy summer evening, and a goodly crowd was there
That well nigh filled Joe’s barroom on the corner of the square,
And as songs and witty stories came through the open door;
A vagabond crept slowly in and posed upon the floor.
“Where did it come from?” some one said;
“The wind has blown it in.”
“What does it want?” another cried, “Some whiskey, beer or gin?”
“Here, Toby, seek him, if your stomach’s equal to the work,
I wouldn’t touch him with a fork, he’s as filthy as a Turk.”
This badinage the poor wretch took with stoical good grace,