The Gout, a fearful plague without a cure,

Took lodging in a sage and felt quite sure

Of making him despair. He did complain,

(Wisdom can't help too much when you're in pain.

You just don't listen)—but in the end

Wisdom won out. My philosophic friend

Started to reason suavely with his Gout.

Each tried to win a philosophic bout.

“Dear Doctor," said the Gout. “You must agree

Prudence is not your strongest point. I see

You eat too much, you pass the time with dames,

You hate to take a walk; your long chess games,

Your drinking and flirtations take up time

And dissipate your powers—it's a crime.

In stopping this I'm doing you a favor.

You should say, “Thanks, friend. You're a lifesaver!'"

The sage asserted: "Love can do no wrong

And, softening stern Reason, keeps us young,

I love, I've always loved, I'll always be in love.

And someone still loves me. Heavens above!

Am I to pass my days in dull privation?

No, no. Wisdom must always rest

In relishing the gifts wherein we're blessed.

A glass of punch, a pretty mistress, maybe two

Or three or four—my wife forgave me, why don't you?

Any fair lady I can still delight

Shall not escape me while I stand upright.

Success in chess makes the game amusing,

But I lose interest quickly when I'm losing.

The fool renounces pleasures undiminished.

The wise man gives the game up when it's finished."