It's a singular fact that whenever I order My goblet of Guinness or bumper of Bass, Out of ten or a dozen that sport round the border, Some fly turns a somersault into my glass. Ah, believe me, fond fly, 'tis excessively sinful, This habit which knocks even blue-bottles up; Just remember what Cassio, on getting a skinful, Remark'd about every inordinate cup. Pray where is your home, and O, how will you get there, And what will your wife and your family think? Pray, now, shall you venture to show the whole set there That paterfamilias is given to drink? O think of the moment when conscience returning Shall put the brief pleasures of Bacchus to flight; When the tongue shall be parch'd and the brow shall be burning, And most of to-morrow shall taste of to-night. For the toast shall be tough and the tea shall be bitter, And even through breakfast this thought shall intrude; That a little pale brandy and seltzer were fitter For such an occasion than animal food. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE HOUSE WITH NOBODY IN IT by ALFRED JOYCE KILMER TO COLIN CLOUT by ANTHONY MUNDAY BEN JONSON ENTERTAINS A MAN FROM STRATFORD by EDWIN ARLINGTON ROBINSON IN THE ROOM by JAMES THOMSON (1834-1882) BALLAD OF THE WOMEN OF PARIS by FRANCOIS VILLON SONNETS OF MANHOOD: 7. THE SLEEPING BEAUTY by GEORGE BARLOW (1847-1913) |