O, what can ail thee, knight at arms, Alone and palely loitering? — I suffer intestinal qualms And heartburn's sting. These haggard cheeks, this fevered brow My inner turbulence proclaim, And antiperistalsis now 'S my only aim. Last night my military mates And I made merry in the Mess; Ah, he who so participates Should shun excess! The blushful Hippocrene flowed on, I leapt the chairs a shade too quick — And that is why I look so wan And feel so sick. |