ASK me no more: I've had enough Chablis; The wine may come again, and take the shape, From glass to glass, of "Mountain" or of "Cape;" But, my dear boy, when I have answered thee, Ask me no more. Ask me no more: what answer should I give, I love not pickled pork nor partridge pie; I feel if I took whisky I should die! Ask me no more -- for I prefer to live: Ask me no more. Ask me no more: unless my fate is sealed, And I have striven against you all in vain. Let your good butler bring me Hock again: Then rest, dear boy. If for this once I yield, Ask me no more! |