He comes unfailing for the loan

We give and then forget;
He comes, and probably for years
Will he be coming yet,—
Familiar as an old mistake,
And futile as regret.

Well, Bokardo, here we are;
Make yourself at home.
Look around—you haven't far
To look and why be dumb?
Not the place that used to be,
Not so many things to see;
But there's room for you and me.
And you—you've come.

Talk a little; or, if not,
Show me with a sign
Why it was that you forgot
What was yours and mine.
Friends, I gather, are small things
In an age when coins are kings;
Even at that, one hardly flings
Friends before swine.

Rather strong? I knew as much,
For it made you speak.
No offense to swine, as such,
But why this hide-and-seek?
You have something on your side,
And you wish you might have died,
So you tell me. And you tried

One night last week?