Vex him with thirst, and of his thirst make game;
Bring Schweppe’s ic’d waters to his dreaming gaze—
Just to his mouth the claret cup they raise—
And while, like Tantalus, he may not sip,
Cool lumps of “Wenham” bob against his lip!
——I will not drink! No bottle imp shall make
Of me a Sponge, and then a Tipsy Cake.
Yet I’ve a deed to do, and need to prime,
Like a mild lover at the “popping” time;
Like cockney fox-hunter of lily heart,