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But his whiskey hollow beats his wine,
Within the servants' hall. There the punch, in little space,
Gets punching every head !
Is put the first to bed.
His bedfellow must be,
Till who so drunk as he !
He surely cannot walk :
Companions burn the cork, —
When he made love in Venice,
Had blacked the face of Dennis.
Until he cut a figure
Beside a brother nigger!
Eight long miles to go, at the least,
Dennis stopped not to wake the black,
Cross country, fleet and frisky.
In place of a noggin of whiskey.
He cast a sharp eye over all,
A-sticking just behind it:
But Dennis did n't mind it. And, may be, he would n't have cared to look ; But this 'cute thought in his head he took :-
“I'd like to see, as I slept in the hay,
Along with that Nigger,
I cut to-day.”
Poor Dennis ! he approached the glass :
But soon he saw his error.
His face was black