Sir, there's your pint and chop, and if you wish for anything else you can ring.

Envious, indeed, of such--Marry come up!" and with a toss of her head, higher than any she had hitherto given, she bounced out of the room.
Here was a pretty affair! I had entered the house and ordered the chop and pint in the belief that by so doing I was patronising the poet, and lo, I was not in the poet's house, and my order would benefit a person for whom, however respectable and religious, I cared not one rush.
Moreover, the pint which I had ordered appeared in the guise not of ale, which I am fond of, but of sherry, for which I have always entertained a sovereign contempt, as a silly, sickly compound, the use of which will transform a nation, however bold and warlike by nature, into a race of sketchers, scribblers, and punsters, in fact into what Englishmen are at the present day.

But who was to blame?
Why, who but the poet and myself?
The poet ought to have told me that there were two houses in L--- bearing the sign of the -- - Arms, and that I must fight shy of the hotel and steer for the pot-house, and when I gave the order I certainly ought to have been a little more explicit; when I said a pint I ought to have added--of ale.

Sententiousness is a fine thing sometimes, but not always.

By being sententious here, I got sherry, which I dislike, instead of ale which I like, and should have to pay more for what was disagreeable, than I should have had to pay for what was agreeable.