EXEXOLOR
by
Cholmondeley-Pennell

The shades of night had fallen (at last)
When from the Eagle Tavern passed
A youth, who bore, in manual vice
A pot of something monstrous nice,
XX - oh lor!

His brow was bad - his young eye scanned
The frothing flagon in his hand
And like a gurgling streamlet sprung
The accents to that thirsty tongue,
XX - oh lor!

In happy homes he saw them grub
On stout, and oysters from a tub
The dismal gaslight gleamed without
And from his lips escaped a shout,
XX - oh lor!

“Young man,” the Sage observed, “Just stay
And let me dip my beak, I say
The pewter is deep and I am dry
Perceiv’st thou verdure in my eye?
XX - oh lor!

“Oh stop,” the maiden cried, “And lend
Thy beery burden here, my friend -”
Th’ unbidden tear regretful rose
But still his thumb-tip sought his nose,
XX - oh lor!

“Beware the gutter at thy feet
Beware the dragons of the street
Beware lest thirsty Bob you meet!”
This was the ultimate remark
A voice replied far thro’ the dark,
XX - oh lor!

That night, by watchmen on their round
The person in a ditch was found
Still grasping in his manual vice
That pot - once fill’d with something nice,
XX - oh lor!