Pensive they sit, and roll their languid eyes, <br />Nibble their toast, and cool their tea with sighs, <br />Or else forget the purpose of the night, <br />Forget their tea -- forget their appetite. <br />See with cross'd arms they sit -- ah! happy crew, <br />The fire is going out and no one rings <br />For coals, and therefore no coals Betty brings. <br />A fly is in the milk-pot -- must he die <br />By a humane society? <br />No, no; there Mr. Werter takes his spoon, <br />Inserts it, dips the handle, and lo! soon <br />The little straggler, sav'd from perils dark, <br />Across the teaboard draws a long wet mark. <br />Arise! take snuffers by the handle, <br />There's a large cauliflower in each candle. <br />A winding-sheet, ah me! I must away <br />To No. 7, just beyond the circus gay. <br />'Alas, my friend! your coat sits very well; <br />Where may your tailor live?' 'I may not tell. <br />O pardon me -- I'm absent now and then. <br />Where might my tailor live? I say again <br />I cannot tell, let me no more be teaz'd -- <br />He lives in Wapping, might live where he pleas'd.'<br /><br />John Keats<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/a-party-of-lovers/
