Who climbs till nerve and force are spent, With many a puff and pant: Who still, as rises the ascent, In language grows more violent, Although in breath more scant: Who, climbing, gains at length the place That crowns the upward track. And, entering with unsteady pace, Receives a buffet in the face That lands him on his back: [Picture: Decorative border of man climbing hall] And feels himself, like one in sleep, Glide swiftly down again, A helpless weight, from steep to steep, Till, with a headlong giddy sweep, He drops upon the plain— So I, that had resolved to bring Conviction to a ghost, And found it quite a different thing From any human arguing, Yet dared not quit my post But, keeping still the end in view To which I hoped to come, I strove to prove the matter true By putting everything I knew Into an axiom: Commencing every single phrase With ‘therefore’ or ‘because,’ I blindly reeled, a hundred ways, About the syllogistic maze, Unconscious where I was. Quoth he “That’s regular clap-trap: Don’t bluster any more. Now _do_ be cool and take a nap! Such a ridiculous old chap Was never seen before! “You’re like a man I used to meet, Who got one day so furious In arguing, the simple heat Scorched both his slippers off his feet!” I said “_That’s very curious_!” [Picture: Scorched both his slippers off his feet] “Well, it _is_ curious, I agree, And sounds perhaps like fibs: But still it’s true as true can be— As sure as your name’s Tibbs,” said he. I said “My name’s _not_ Tibbs.” “_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? [Picture: To walk four miles through mud and rain] “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.