Fanatical logic is “quisby”;
  Each crank in his bonnet has his bee. 
    They swagger, dod rot’em!—­
    Like loud Bully Bottom
  When playing the Thraso to “Thisby.”

  Total abstinence purely pernicious? 
  Oh, Doctor, that’s really delicious! 
    That’s turning the tables
    On faddists, whose fables
  Do make the judicious suspicious.

  Your modest and moderate drinker,
  Who’s also a fair-minded thinker,
    Would look in the face
    The fell scourge of our race. 
  Sense from logic should not be a shrinker.

  But drinking and drunkenness, truly,
  Should not be confounded unduly. 
    Fanatics here blunder;
    As far they’re asunder
  As Tempe and Ultima Thule!

  We thank you, whose lucid urbanity
  Assures us our favourite “vanity”
    (To quote cheery SAM)
    Need not be a “dram”
  To drive us to death or insanity.

  Good wine and sound ale have their uses,
  To distinguish ’twixt which and abuses
    The clear-headed want;
    But illogical cant
  Will ne’er solve our worst social cruces.

  “Table waters and watery” wines, Sir,
  Don’t cheer up a man when he dines, Sir. 
    To gases and slops,
    And weak “fizzles,” and “pops,”
  The weak stomach only inclines, Sir.

  Like teetotal cant, they’re “depressing,”
  And if you can give them a dressing. 
    With logic compact,
    Firmly founded on fact,
  Sober sense will bestow its best blessing.

  But drunkenness, Doctor is awful,
  ’Tis that we could wish made unlawful. 
    ’Tis that which will prick
    A man’s conscience when sick
  Of fanatics of flatulent jaw full.

  Your sots are sheer abominations,
  But they who deserve castigations
    Much more than poor “drunks,”
    Are those pestilent skunks
  Who poison the people’s potations!

  Good wine and sound ale need apology? 
  No!  But there’s something to follow, G.! 
    Distilling and Brewing
    Must work our undoing
  When branches of mere Toxicology!

  Good malt, hop, and grape, though fermented,
  May leave a man well and contented,
    But poisons infernal
    (See any Trade Journal!)
  Drive decent souls drunk and demented.

  Verb. sap.!  You’ll, excuse the suggestion. 
  They soften brains, ruin digestion;
    Sap body and soul,
    In the (drugged) Flowing Bowl. 
  There, Doctor, ’s the real Drink Question!

  Meanwhile, Punch admires your plain speaking. 
  Enough of evasion and sneaking! 
    Let fact, logic stout,
    And sound pluck fight it out. 
  Truth’s “at home” to right valorous seeking.

  Of course, my dear Doctor, you’ll catch it. 
  The Pump is aggressive; you match it. 
    Whoever proves right,
    Your pluck starts a good fight,
  And Punch is delighted to watch it!