(Observation wrested from me, like the one I made before)
Back upon the cushions sinking, hopelessly my eyes, like winking,
On some stout for private drinking, ranged in rows upon the floor,
Fix’d—and on an oyster barrel (full) beside them on the floor,
Look’d and groan’d, and nothing more.
Open then was flung the portal, and in stepp’d a hated mortal,
By the moderns call’d a Vulture (known as Sponge in days of yore),
Well I knew his reputation! cause of all my agitation—
Scarce a nod of salutation changed, he pounced upon the floor;
Coolly lifted up the oysters and some stout from off the floor,