My eyes flash out, and for joy I shout, the wayfarer to view,
He is game, I ween, that mine Host so keen and his serfs for me pursue.
In glee I skip as I think they'll strip him of all that his poke can hold,
As they hack with a will and a brandished bill and hew out the victim's gold,
And screw and wring with a long long string, to squeeze out more and more:
It pleases me so that I laugh Ho ho! and hurl out a demon's roar;
For I know to-night that luckless wight will at my mercy lie;
I shall get the good of his sumptuous food and his red port wine so high.
On him I'll creep in slumber deep when he is bound for me!
Do ye know me now? Do I need avow that I am the Tavern Flea?