O Stranger! I've not seen thy face
But well I know of thy disgrace
For in this morning's hours small
Thou pukedest in the hotel hall.
Thine illness I can understand
Thout hadst no toilet near to hand
Nor bucket, can or chamberpot
For that alone I hate thee not.
No, what doth make me mad as hell
Is that nobody didst thou tell.
To not one soul didst thou confess
That thou hadst made this dreadful mess,
But left instead the foul and smelly
Erstwhile contents of thy belly
There to make a dreadful fug
To taint the air and stain the rug.
An hadst thou more forthcoming been
This morn the carpet would be clean!
But no, thou leftest for us all
The smell of barf all through the hall.
O Stranger, be thou doomed to hell
Inhaling thine own vomit's smell,
While for eternal sore rebuke
Thou wadest daily in thy puke!