“The hour,” the Māori sourly said,

“Has come when you must go.

I’ve had enough, it’s time for bed.

Get out, and don’t be slow!”

“It’s four AM, the night is young,”

Protested I to him,

“I’ve still more songs I haven’t sung,

Cheer up man, don’t be grim.”

“More songs!” cried he, “for pity’s sake!

Your throat’s quite dry and hoarse.”

“So dry indeed, I’d drink a lake,”

Said I, “of beer, of course.”

“Another drink’s the very thing –

My throat’s begun to suffer.”

And saying that, I pulled the ring.

“It’s kind of you to offer.”

“It’s not your throat, but my poor ears

That suffered through the night.

You’ve drunk me dry; I’m bored to tears,

Get out or we must fight.”

“Is this the way you treat your guest

Who entertains you well?

You’re very rude. I’ve done my best.

Your manners, frankly smell.

“A social shambles such as you

Should thank his lucky stars

That friends like me, so good and true

Should come and quaff some jars.”

He grabbed my throat and squeezed my nose

Till tears came to my eyes.

“I’ve had enough! Do you suppose

I liked your grating cries?”

“Let go,” I croaked, “let go right now,

Let go or you’ll be sorry.

I’m vicious when I’m roused, you know

So put me down and hurry.”

He let me go and with a growl

He swung a meaty fist

I kicked his shin and with a howl

He saw that he had missed.

His eyes grew wide, his nostrils flared,

He took a mighty breath.

His buttons burst, his chest was bared,

It seemed he sought my death.

I thought it prudent then to leave

And stumbled off in haste.

I slammed the door behind, relieved -

Relief was soundly based.

Though leaving soon is sometimes rude

I leave too soon too seldom.

And I admit, it’s never good

To overstay one’s welcome.