The Haigs indeed are gone, and on the Nose
That bourgeoned once with color of the rose
A deathly Pallor sits, while down the lane
Where once strode Johnny Walker—Water goes.
IV
Come, fill the Cup, and in the Coffee-house
We’ll learn a new and temperate Carouse—
The Bird of Time flies with a steadier wing
But roosts with sleepless Eye—a Coffee Souse!