All you that are too fond of wine,

Or any other stuff,

Take warning by the dismal fate

Of one Lieutenant Luff.

A sober man he might have been,

Except in one regard,

He did not like soft water,

So he took to drinking hard!

Said he, “Let others fancy slops,

And talk in praise of Tea,

But I am no Bohemian,

So do not like Bohea.

If wine’s a poison, so is Tea,

Though in another shape:

What matter whether one is kill’d

By canister or grape!”

According to this kind of taste

Did he indulge his drouth,

And being fond of Port, he made

A port-hole of his mouth!

A single pint he might have sipp’d

And not been out of sorts,

In geologic phrase — the rock

He split upon was quarts!

To “hold the mirror up to vice”

With him was hard, alas!

The worse for wine he often was,

But not “before a glass.”

No kind and prudent friend had he

To bid him drink no more —

The only chequers in his course

Where at a tavern door!

Full soon the sad effec............