With ale, from glib-voiced Gipsy by the way.
He held it lightly: for ’twas a rum start
To find a hedgeling who had still a heart:
So put it down for twist of a beggar’s tongue ...
He had not felt the heat: how the dust stung
A face June-roasted: he saw not the look
Aslant the gift-mug; how the hand shook ...
Yet the words filled his head, and he grew merry
And whistled from the Boar to Wrye-brook ferry,
And chaffed with Ferryman when the hawser creaked,