‘Twas a bright day in May when a sage took his cane,
and set out on a walk through the town.
As he passed through the square he espied a man there,
who was drinking the barley-juice down.

“Good sir!” quoth the sage, “Is there something amiss?
You drink when the sun’s barely risen!
Put aside that great jug and hold discourse with me,
and strip the dark clouds from your vision.”

Quoth the drunk to the sage, “Oh, you witless buffoon!
For all your grey hair, you’ve no knowledge.
A clear cloud it is that cloys at my sight—
shows me things you’d not learn at your college.”

Quoth the sage in return, “Oh, you pitiable wretch!
Your rhymes have no wit and no flavor;
though you think yourself brighter than sun, moon, and stars,
your brain is damned ever to waver.”

“But come, you old fool!” quoth the vacuous drunk,
“You think yourself clever and pure;
But see how your hands shake and shiver with age;
for that I’ve a marvelous cure!”

“You’ll die ere you shake!” quoth the sage in a rage,
“For I live by the brains in my head,
but when all of your joy has gone down to your gut,
your poor Lord will be empty and dead!”