Come, DAMON, since again we've met
We'll feast right royally to-night,
The groaning table shall be set
With every seasonable delight!
The luscious bivalve ... I forgot,
The oyster is an arch-deceiver,
And makes its eater's certain lot
A bad attack of typhoid fever.
With soup then, be it thick or clear,
The banquet fitly may commence--
Alas, on second thoughts, I fear
With soup as well we must dispense.
The doctors urge that, in effect.
Soup simply kills the thoughtless glutton,
It's full of germs. I recollect
They say the same of beef and mutton.
Yes, each variety of meat,
As you remark, is much the same,
And we're forbidden now to eat
Fish, oysters, poultry, joint or game.
But though a Nemesis each brings,
The punishment, the doctors tell, is
As nothing to the awful things
Awaiting all who toy with jellies.
"Cheese--that is not condemned with these?"
Yet ample evidence we find
To make us, DAMON, look on cheese
As simply poison to mankind;
While those who may desire to pass
Immediately o'er Charon's ferry,
Have but to take a daily glass
Of claret, hock, champagne or sherry.
And therefore, DAMON, you and I,
Who fain would live a year at least,
Reluctantly must modify
The scope of our projected feast;
A charcoal biscuit we will share,
Water (distilled, of course,) we'll swallow,
Since this appears the only fare
On which destruction will not follow!
* * * * *