It might be a ginger cordial; but
The air of the night was strong,
And it wouldn't be proper to say I'm sure,
I might perhaps be wrong.
"Will you slack?" said I, but he caught my arm
"The man that I killed is there!
I hate to have it to say. But no,
I can't recover my fare!
I asked it from him one winter's night,
But full as a tick with drink,