Cliff Klingenhagen had me in to dine 
With him one day; and after soup and meat, 
And all the other things there were to eat, 
Cliff took two glasses and filled one with wine 
And one with wormwood. Then, without a sign
For me to choose at all, he took the draught 
Of bitterness himself, and lightly quaffed 
It off, and said the other one was mine. 

And when I asked him what the deuce he meant 
By doing that, he only looked at me
And smiled, and said it was a way of his. 
And though I know the fellow, I have spent 
Long time a-wondering when I shall be 
As happy as Cliff Klingenhagen is.