To see, by gaslight's gleaming,
Brown's face above my bed;
"Why, Jack, what is the matter?
We heard a dreadful clatter
And found you on the shed!

"It's plain enough, supposing
You sat there, moon-struck, dozing,
Upon the window's edge,
Then lost yourself, and falling,
Just where we found you, sprawling,
Struck the piazza ledge;
A lucky hit, old fellow,
Of black and blue and yellow
It gives your face a touch,
You saved your neck, but barely;
To state the matter fairly,
You took a drop too much!"

I took the train next morning,
Some lumps my nose adorning,
My forehead, sundry knobs,
My ideas slightly wandering,
But, as I went, much pondering
Upon my night with Dobbs;
Brown thinks it, dear old sinner,
A case of "after dinner,"
And won't believe a word,
Talks of "hallucination,"
"Laws of association,"