Assist, ye jocal nine[1], inspire my soul!
(Waiter! a go of Brett's best alcohol,
A light, and one of Killpack's mild Havannahs).
Fire me! again I say, while loud hosannas
I sing of what we were--of what we _now_ are.
Wildly let me rave,
To imprecate the knave
Whose curious _information_ turned our porter sour,
Bottled our stout, doing it (ruthless cub!)
Brown,
Down
Knocking our snug, unlicensed club;
Changing, despite our _belle esprit_, at one fell _swop_,
Into a legal coffee-crib, our contraband cook-shop!