I entreat you, Alfred Tennyson, Come and share my haunch of venison. I have too a bin of claret, Good, but better when you share it. Tho' 'tis only a small bin, There's a stock of it within. And as sure as I'm a rhymer, Half a butt of Rudeheimer. Come; among the sons of men is one Welcomer than Alfred Tennyson?