The young man's no more his than your own to bestow.
Touch one button of his if you dare, Nick---no! no!
Cut your stick, sir--come, mizzle! be off with you! go!"--
The Devil grew hot--
"If I do I'll be shot!
An you come to that, Cuthbert, I'll tell you what's what;
He has _asked_ us to _dine here_, and go we will not!
Why, you Skinflint,--at least
You may leave us the feast!
Here we've come all that way from our brimstone abode,
Ten million good leagues, sir, as ever you strode,
And the deuce of a luncheon we've had on the road--
'Go!'--'Mizzle!' indeed--Mr. Saint, who are you,
I should like to know?--'Go!' I'll be hanged if I do!
He invited us all--we've a right here--it's known
That a Baron may do what he likes with his own--
Here, Asmodeus--a slice of that beef;--now the mustard!--
What have _you_ got?--oh, apple-pie--try it with custard."

The Saint made a pause
As uncertain, because
He knew Nick is pretty well "up" in the laws,
And they _might_ be on _his_ side--and then, he'd such claws!
On the whole, it was better, he thought, to retire
With the curly-wigged boy he'd picked out of the fire,
And give up the victuals--to retrace his path,
And to compromise--(spite of the Member for Bath).
So to Old Nick's appeal,
As he turned on his heel,
He replied, "Well, I'll leave you the mutton and veal,