A place to cut and slash without any form of man hands

You can lean on me, Stand to write with a snap! I hold sheets together. Old rib cap.

Glazed with grandeur, a graceful grip, Gleaming at feasts, grandly sipped. Grander materials and precious stones, Quite refined in the hands of earls. Savoring swirls of wine and mead, Holding histories and cradling creeds. Nowadays, it glitters at the altar, Drink too much from the depths and you may falter.

In towers tall, I proudly sing, Marking time with every ring. On joyous moment, or call to wake, My metal voice will emanate.

Dinner in tails? A snappy cocktail, on ice? Small fry? When you want the best, it can pay to shell out.