Brother prisoner, says I, how shall we get free,
For want of this thing called rhino?
The poor fellow sat like one was half dead,
Then I gave him claret to dye his nose red;
But I never knew yet how the reck’ning was paid;
I was resolv’d to live well, though in Limbo.
There was Mr Bum and I, we toss’d it about,
Until we began to grow mellow;
Three bottles of claret he there did me give,
Indeed he’s a jolly good fellow: