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 And one far gone, with something twixt a hiccup and a cough in his Throat, lay along ejaculating scraps of Aristophanes. Now this was remarkably tall Champagne, But nothing to that of P. C. K.— And if you would know Where you must go To get the wine That is so divine, Whenever you feel like a fit of the blues Take up your hat and put your shoes (Or boots, as the case may be) on your feet, And go down to 80 Beaver Street, In there is the office of P. C. K, And there you will find the best Champagne.