But having had your boom in oil, And made your millions out of it, Would you propose to cease from toil? Great Vanderfeller! Not a bit! You've got to labour, day and night, Until you die – and serve you right!
Then, when you stop this frenzied race, And others in your office sit, You'll leave the world a better place, – The better for your leaving it! For there's a chance perhaps your heir May spend what you've collected there.
Myself, how lucky I must be, That need not fear so gross an end; Since Fortune has not favoured me With many million pounds to spend. (Still, did that fickle Dame relent, I'd show you how they should be spent!)
I am not saint enough to feel My shoulder ripen to a wing, Nor have I wits enough to steal His title from the Copper King; And there's a vasty gulf between The Man I Am and Might Have Been;
But tho' at dinner I may take Too much of Heidsieck (extra dry), And underneath the table make My simple couch just where I lie, My mode of roosting on the floor Is just a trick and nothing more.
And when, not Wisely but too Well, My thirst I have contrived to quench, The stories I am apt to tell May be, perhaps, a trifle French; (For 'tis in anecdote, no doubt, That what's Bred in the Beaune comes out.)
It does not render me unfit To give advice, both wise and right, Because I do not follow it Myself as closely as I might; There's nothing that I wouldn't do To point the proper road to you.
And this I'm sure of, more or less, And trust that you will all agree, The Elements of Happiness Consist in being – just like Me; No sinner, nor a saint perhaps, But – well, the very best of chaps.
Share the Experience I have had, Consider all I've known and seen, And Don't be Good, and Don't be Bad, But cultivate a Golden Mean.
* * * * * * *
What makes Existence really nice Is Virtue – with a dash of Vice.
"Enough is as Good as a Feast."
What is Enough? An idle dream! One cannot have enough, I swear, Of Ices or Meringues-and-Cream, Nougat or Chocolate Eclairs, Of Oysters or of Caviar, Of Prawns or Paté de Foie Grar!
Who would not willingly forsake Kindred and Home, without a fuss, For Icing from a Birthday Cake, Or juicy fat Asparagus, And journey over countless seas For New Potatoes and Green Peas?
They say that a Contented Mind Is a Continual Feast; – but where The mental frame, and how to find, Which can with Turtle Soup compare? No mind, however full of Ease, Could be Continual Toasted Cheese.
For dinner have a sole to eat, (Some Perrier Jouet, '92,) An Entrée then (and, with the meat, A bottle of Lafitte will do), A quail, a glass of port (just one), Liqueurs and coffee, and you've done.
But should you want a hearty meal, And not this gourmet's lightsome snack, Fill up with terrapin and teal, Clam chowder, crabs and canvasback; With all varieties of sauce, And diff'rent wines for ev'ry course.
Your tastes may be of simpler type; — A homely glass of "half-and-half," An onion and a dish of tripe, Or headpiece of the kindly calf. (Cruel perhaps, but then, you know, "'Faut tout souffrir pour être veau!")
'Tis a mistake to eat too much Of any dishes but the best; And you, of course, should never touch A thing you know you can't digest; For instance, lobster; – if you do, Well, – I'm amayonnaised at you!
Let this be your heraldic crest, A bottle (chargé) of Champagne, A chicken (gorged) with salad (dress'd), Below, this motto to explain — "Enough is Very Good, may be; Too Much is Good Enough for Me!"