For he knew the art defensive, and could costermongers floor);
"Recollect it's after midnight, are you going?—mind the floor."
Quoth the Vulture, "Never more!"
"Smith!" I cried (the gin was going, down his throat in rivers flowing),
"If you want a bed, you know there's quite a nice hotel next door,
Very cheap. I'm ill—and, joking set apart, your horrid smoking
Irritates my cough to choking. Having mentioned it before,
Really, you should not compel one—Will you mizzle—as before?"
Quoth the Vulture, "Never more!"
"Smith!" I cried, "that joke repeating merits little better treating