Oft as the watchful bellman marched his round,
At a fresh bottle gay Sir John he found.
By four the knight would get his business done,
And only then reeled off, because alone;
Full well he knew the dreadful storm to come,
But armed with bordeaux, he durst venture home.
My lady with her tongue was still prepared,
She rattled loud, and he impatient heard:
"'Tis a fine hour? In a sweet pickle made!
And this, Sir John, is every day the trade.