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?