The poet rushes into the banquet hall only to find the place deserted. A pack of royal hounds are under the table gnawing on the cold bones of the feast. There is one cup left standing in the midst of the profusion of spilled wine and tipped chairs. It looks like he missed an excellent party!

Picking up the cup, which still contains a few sips of sweet wine, he raises it to the vacant throne at the head of the table and to the shadows along the wall. His voice echoes in the empty hall.

"It was an honor and a pleasure to entertain you all with my poetry! Here's a health to Queen Desdemona, to each of my fellow poets, to the noble jousters, knights and other guests - and to the invisible judges who chose my poem for First Prize! I am proud and grateful...and very sorry to have missed the festivities. Sláinte!"