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Poem	With belly like a poisoned pup Said I: 'I must give bacon up: And also, I profanely fear, I must abandon bread and beer That make for portliness they say; Yet of them copiously today I ate with an increasingly sense Of grievous corpulence. I like a lot of thinks I like. Too bad that I must go on strike Against pork sausages and mash, Spaghetti and fried corn-beef hash. I deem he is a lucky soul Who has no need of girth control; For in the old of age: 'Il faut Souffrir pour etre bean.' Yet let me not be unconsoled: So many greybeards I behold, Distinguished in affairs of state, In culture counted with the Great, Have tummies with a shameless bulge, And so I think I'll still indulge In eats I like without a qualm, And damn my diaphragm!'
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