A PSALM OF LIFE AT SIXTY.
What the Heart of the Old Man said to the Genial Gusher at Christmas Time.
TELL me not in Christmas Numbers
Life is but a gourmet's dream!
Sure your sense is dead or slumbers:
Peptics are not what they seem.
Life is serious! Life is solemn!
And good grub is not its goal:
Menu-making by the column
Helps not the dyspeptic soul.
Not delight from cates to borrow
Is the aim of prudent will,
But to eat so that to-morrow
Finds us not exceeding ill.
Feeds are long and health is fleeting;
And old stomachs once so strong,
Find that indiscriminate eating
Very quickly puts them wrong.
In the banquet's dainty battle,
At the table's toothsome strife,
Feed not like dumb hungry cattle,
Wield a cautious fork and knife!
Trust no menu, howe'er pleasant;
Night-mare-Nemesis is dread;
Swig and swallow like a peasant,
You'll repent it when in bed!
Memories of big feeds remind us
Christmas pudding peace can slay;
Touch it, and next morn shall find us
Indigestion's helpless prey.
Pudding that perhaps another,
Light of heart and bright of brain,
Some strong-stomached younger brother,
Eating, sends his plate again.
Let us then beware high feeding,
Or the love of luscious cate,
Still abstaining, ne'er exceeding,
Learn to dodge dyspeptic fate!
From Punch, December 27, 1879.
Lives of wealthy men remind us
That by using Printer's ink,
We can die and leave behind us
Monstrous piles of golden "chink."