A Pope's Last Drink

"Woe, oh, Woe is me!" quoth the man behind the bar.
"No, no! Woe is me!" quoth the woman in front of the bar.
"Why woe to you, and not to me?" cried the bartender.
"Woe to me, because you see, I have no hair to comb!" she wailed.
"That is nothing, compared to me, for I shall reap what I have sown!" said he.
"Reap what you've sown!? How on earth can that be?
You serve your drinks, and your time, and do nothing in between,
So how is it that you have done, a most horrible thing?" postulated she.
"Soon I shall die, I just found out, and not a week has passed,
Since that night I served the pope, a drink, 'twas to be his last.
He asked me for a Vin Mariani, favored among the rich of the past,
Alas, but when I thought I knew it, I definately f*ckin went and blew it.
I served his Popeness that final drink, and before I could react,
That old man fell dead in his chair, from poison for a rat!", sorrowful was he.
"My God, this thing you've done, outnumbers all the rest!
You shall burn in Hell, for many a many a many a year,
But before you go and suffer smite, pour a round of beer!"