Poem: A Defense Of Moderation

The well-mannered man, of high-etiquette born,
May see in the mirror morality’s form
And not merely ornaments gaudily worn.

At a feast such as this, ’twas an honor to dine,
But I’ll have no more capon nor mutton, nor wine,
And as for dessert, I shall have to decline.

For temperance decries the unbound appetite,
So I’ll push back my plate to Good Breeding’s delight,
And please, my good man, only one fist tonight.

Only one fist tonight.  One’s enough for a king,
For to stuff oneself so’s an indelicate thing.
Only one, gently done, and do take off your ring.

I believe to demand any more as a guest
Strikes one as crudely ham-handed, at best.
Come, come, only one? Then we’ll give it a rest.

I graciously thank you, but only one fist.
Go light on the butter, and stop at the wrist.
Just where the fist meets the wrist.  I insist.

It’s quite the finale!  Enough is enough.
You’re right up my alley, but really, I’m stuffed.
There are pygmies in Borneo who starve in the buff.

See! The night has grown long, and I fear I must leave,
Tho’ I know you’ve a smatt’ring of tricks up your sleeve.
Leave the rest for your dog.  He looks thin.  And bereaved.