"Not Tibbs!" he cried — his tone became A shade or two less hearty — "Why, no," said I. "My proper name Is Tibbets — " "Tibbets?" "Aye, the same." "Why, then YOU'RE NOT THE PARTY!" With that he struck the board a blow That shivered half the glasses. "Why couldn't you have told me so Three quarters of an hour ago, You prince of all the asses? "To walk four miles through mud and rain, To spend the night in smoking, And then to find that it's in vain — And I've to do it all again — It's really too provoking! "Don't talk!" he cried, as I began To mutter some excuse. "Who can have patience with a man That's got no more discretion than An idiotic goose? "To keep me waiting here, instead Of telling me at once That this was not the house!" he said. "There, that'll do — be off to bed! Don't gape like that, you dunce!" "It's very fine to throw the blame On me in such a fashion! Why didn't you enquire my name The very minute that you came?" I answered in a passion. "Of course it worries you a bit To come so far on foot — But how was I to blame for it?" "Well, well!" said he. "I must admit That isn't badly put. "And certainly you've given me The best of wine and victual — Excuse my violence," said he, "But accidents like this, you see, They put one out a little.