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The acetylene splutters and ﬂickers,
 * The night comes into its own.

Outside Ambrose and Terror
 * Are snarling over a bone.

And this is the tale the watchman,
 * Awake in the dead of night,

Tells of the fourteen sleepers
 * Whose snoring gives him the blight.

The revels of Eros and Bacchus
 * Are mingled in some of their dreams,

For the songs they gustin gurgle
 * Are allied to bibulous themes.

And subjects re barmaids and bottles,
 * Whisky and barrels of beer,

Are mixed with amorous pleadings
 * That sound decidedly queer.