When the night is waning—Good-night! Good-night!
No, not another—the hop and vine
May wilt and wither like western grass;
Oh, well, if I must—in a final glass
I will drink a toast to a girl divine,
[180] ]I will drink a toast to this wife of mine,
A queen, enthroned in the hearts of men!
Eh! What’s that striking? It can’t be ten,
For I promised Sue to be home by nine.
Pshaw! Sue is tucked in the sheets, I guess,