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SCHNAPPS, by                     Poet's Biography
First Line: I'm rather slow at extravaganzas
Last Line: Don't think superior at all to schnapps!


I'm rather slow at extravaganzas,
And what your poets call thunderclaps;
I'll therefore spin you some sober stanzas
Concerning nothing at all but Schnapps.
And though my wisdom, like Sancho Panza's,
Consists entirely of bits and scraps ,
I'll bet you fourpence that no man plans as
Intense a poem as I on Schoapps.


Schnapps is, you know, the genteelest liquid
That any tapster in Potsdam taps;
When you've tobacco, and chew a thick quid ,
You've still to grin for your glass of Schnapps.
You then wax funny, and show your slick wit,
And smash to smithers with kicks and slaps
Whatever's next you-in Latin quicquid
For I quote Horace when lauding Schnapps.


I've but one pocket for quids and coppers,
Which last moreover are mostly raps,
Yet, 'midst my ha'pence and pipes and stoppers,
I still find room for a flask of Schnapps.
My daily quantum is twenty croppers,
For ten half noggins; but, when with chaps
Who, though good Schnappers, are no slipsloppers,
I help to empty a keg of Schnapps.


Being fifty, sixty, or therebetwixt,
I Guess many midnights can't now elapse
Before the hour comes in which my fixt eye
Must look its last upon earth and Schnapps.
I'll kick the pail, too, in some dark pigstye,
Imbibing hogwash, or whey perhaps,
Which, taken sep'rate, or even mixt,
I Don't think superior at all to Schnapps.






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