Having thus said his say, That Palmer grey Took up little Le Scroope, and walk'd coolly away, While the Demons all set up a "Hip! hip! hurray!" Then fell, tooth and claw, on the victuals, as they Had been guests at Guildhall upon Lord Mayor's day, All scrambling and scuffling for what was before 'em, No care for precedence or common decorum. Few ate more hearty Than Madame Astarte, And Hecate,--considered the Belles of the party, Between them was seated Leviathan, eager To "do the polite," and take wine with Belphegor; Here was _Morbleu_ (a French devil), supping soup-meagre, And there, munching leeks, Davy Jones of Tredegar (A Welsh one), who'd left the domains of Ap Morgan, To "follow the sea,"--and next him Demogorgon,-- Then Pan with his pipes, and Fauns grinding the organ To Mammon and Belial, and half a score dancers. Who'd joined with Medusa to get up "the Lancers;" --Here's Lucifer lying blind drunk with Scotch ale, While Beëlzebub's tying huge knots in his tail. There's Setebos, storming because Mephistopheles Gave him the lie, Said he'd "blacken his eye," And dash'd in his face a whole cup of hot coffee-lees;-- Ramping, and roaring, Hiccoughing, snoring,-- Never was seen such a riot before in A gentleman's house, or such profligate revelling At any _soirée_--where they don't let the Devil in. Hark!--as sure as fate The clock's striking Eight! (An hour which our ancestors called "getting late,") When Nick, who by this time was rather elate, Rose up and addressed them. "'Tis full time," he said, "For all elderly Devils to be in their bed; For my own part I mean to be jogging, because I don't find myself now quite so young as I was; But, Gentlemen, ere I depart from my post, I must call on you all for one bumper--the toast Which I have to propose is,--OUR EXCELLENT HOST! --Many thanks for his kind hospitality--may _We_ also be able To see at _our_ table Himself, and enjoy, in a family way, His good company _down stairs_ at no distant day! You'd, I'm sure, think me rude If I did not include In the toast my young friend there, the curly-wig'd Heir. He's in very good hands, for you're all well aware That St. Cuthbert has taken him under his care; Though I must not say 'bless,'-- --Why, you'll easily guess,-- May our Curly-wig'd Friend's shadow never be less!" Nick took off his heel-taps--bow'd--smiled--with an air Most graciously grim,--and vacated the chair,-- Of course the _elite_ Rose at once on their feet, And followed their leader, and beat a retreat; When a sky-larking Imp took the President's seat, And, requesting that each would replenish his cup, Said, "Where we have dined, my boys, there let us sup!"-- --It was three in the morning before they broke up!!! * * * * *