"Dead men," as in a battle field, lay strewn upon the floor,
But still there was no cry of "Hold!" but constant shouts for "more!"
For he said, "Drink on, drink on!"
Though he scarce could lift his hand.
And it chanced when more than half of the summer night was gone
That he rose up on his feet and tried to stand,
But he sunk into his chair, and lay back grinning there,
And close up to his side we stept,
Then—the rule in such a case—we cork'd him on the face,
And he fell upon the floor, and he slept.