And without turning his facetious head,

Over his shoulder, with a Bacchant air,

Presented the o'erflowing cup, and said,

"Talking's dry work, I have no time to spare."

A second hiccuped, "Our old Master's dead,

You'd better ask our Mistress who's his heir."

"Our Mistress!" quoth a third: "Our Mistress!—pooh!—

You mean our Master—not the old, but new."