English poem
Xxvii--Proverbs Xxiii, 29
by Don Marquis
To Oliver Herford
From many a classic scroll and tome In golden texts the warnings shine: “If you must drink, get soused at home! Will you get pickled? Then use brine!” Each generation gets a sign, But each one needs another prod From scriptures human or divine-- The Wastrel always drops his Wad! Sleek Athens from the Attic loam With ill intention coaxed the vine-- Arcadian Simps admired the foam While hair-oiled City Gents malign Dropped philters in the neatherd's stein-- Soon Corydon upon the sod Lay coinless with a cloven chine-- The Wastrel always drops his Wad!
When Gallic ginks Cook-toured to Rome, Or roaring Teutons from the Rhine, The thought would fill some yokel's dome To dally with the stranger's wine-- Next reel: tough students sprain his spine And bean him with a curule rod And roll him down the Palatine: The Wastrel always drops his Wad! Raus! Bacchus, with that breath of thine, And sad eyes like a bilious cod! Me for the Tracts--I've learned, in fine, The Wastrel always drops his Wad!