That there's not a drop left him to "wet t'other eye";
While the dose is so strong, to his grief and surprise,
She merely says, "Thankee, Sir Walter," and dies.
At that moment the King, who is riding to cover,
Pops in _en passant_ on the desperate lover,
Who has vow'd, not five minutes before, to transfix him--
So he does--he just pulls out his arrow and sticks him.
From the strength of his arm, and the force of his blows,
The Red-bearded Rover falls flat on his nose;
And Sir Walter, thus having concluded the quarrel,
Walks down to the footlights, and draws this fine moral:
"Ladies and gentlemen, lead sober lives:
Don't meddle with other folks' sweethearts or wives!--
When you go out a-sporting take care of your gun,
And--never shoot elderly people in fun!"


IN A VISITOR'S BOOK
[Sidenote: _J.K. Stephen._]

Within the bounds of this Hotel,
Which bears the name of Pen-y-Gwryd,
A black and yellow hound doth dwell,
By which my friend and I were worried.

Our object is not to imply
That he assaulted, bit, or tore us;
In fact he never ventured nigh
Except when food was set before us.