Potion One and potion Three hath poison none, as ye shall see

But drunk together, you will find, they'll quickly kill the human mind

Within this baker's dozen bottle-line, four have trace of vintage wine

Of which two are with poison, two without, and Two tastes quite like sauerkraut

Gorgon's blood fills bottle Eight - but right or left? You'll have to wait

And Six and Ten hold potent cures, but for what ailment no one's sure

One of the odds holds deadly venom, distilled only by juice of lemon

Which resides inside the neighbor of the drink that makes ye braver

Potion Seven's from the sink, mixed with arsenic, I should think

And potion Four can get you drunk, or sunk, or locked in a trunk

Eleven and Twelve are harmless, and tasty, like a pastry

Unless that was Thirteen, in which case, don't be hasty

Now look upon your thirteen choices,

Tell me with your eager voices

Choose three, leave ten, and split them up

One for your glass, one for mine, and one for the witchchilde's cup.