The Hostel, or Inn, XVIII

Why need I tell, why need I show Humanity debased, laid low; How some beneath the table lay; How others strove to get away, And, tumbling headlong on the floor, Ne’er reached the fated festal door; Whilst stammering, incoherently, Towards the goblin turned an eye; Still saw him quaff the liquor down; Still saw him smile, still saw him frown, As fancied joke, or fancied toast, Or fancied anger, ruled him most: And thus he toasting bumpered on, As long as he was looked upon.