Since wine's within, out goeth wit.
Thus, truth to tell, tall topers stout,
Both wine and wit ye go without!"

By such tricks of rhyme, jugglery of words, and the like, Duke Jocelyn won
this fierce company to great good humour and delight; insomuch that divers
of these roysterers pressed wine upon him and money galore. But, the hour
growing late, he contrived at last to steal away with Sir Pertinax, which
last, having fed copiously, now yawned consumedly, eager for bed. Howbeit,
despite the Knight's fierce threats, they found no bed was to be had in
all the inn, and so, perforce, betook them at last to the stable.

There, while our Knight cursed softly, though full deep,
Soon in the straw our Duke fell fast asleep.

My daughter GILLIAN propoundeth:

GILL: O, father, dear, I greatly fear
You 'll never be a poet!
MYSELF: Don't be too hard upon the bard,
I know it, girl, I know it!
These last two lines, I quite agree,
Might easily much better be.
Though, on the whole, I think my verse,
When all is said, might be much worse.
GILL: Worse, father? Yes, perhaps you're right,
Upon the whole--perhaps, it might.
MYSELF: But hark now, miss! Attend to this!
Poetic flights I do not fly;
When I begin, like poor Lobkyn,