The Gentleman and the Drunkard

THE GENTLEMAN AND THE DRUNKARD

Gentleman: "So, tell me my friend, what will be your end?"

Drunkard: "Ah! As if you didn't know. My nose is red and bulbous, and
my breath reeks of wine."

Gentleman: "So, your end will be the vine. And when will be the
time?"

Drunkard: "Time is a curse when one waits long to die. So I drink to
the man upstairs and spit in
his eye."

Gentleman: "Surely the bottle has made you the fool. If you curse God
you shall surely die."

Drunkard: "Then curse him I shall, for it is he that made me the fool,
so my end shall be bitter and
cruel."

Gentleman: "No hopes, no dreams, only the crackling fires of hell
fueled by your schemes."

Drunkard: "I've swung from a mast through winter storms and felt no
pain, though wrenched and
torn. For that-I suppose I was born.

Gentleman: "Can you hear the lugubrious cries of those who've gone
before you? A drop of wine
cannot quench their pathetic thirst."

Drunkard: "And don't forget what pain I wrought as I searched for
cherry wine. The hearts I broke,
were absent of remorse, for I was lost and blind."

Gentleman: "Well my friend it's plain as day, as to what will be your
end. With an inebriated soul,
you'll meet your Maker, and find no wine's made there."

Drunkard: "Yes but the Devil's a drinker, and like all good thinkers,
he sure to accommodate me
with care."

Gentleman: "Well then my friend, lift your glass, and drink to God or
man. For your love of wine
has eaten your mind, and I'm sure that Satan has an appointment with
you soon."

Drunkard: "Please don't be sad as I depart, but let your joy be full.
For I have live a drunkard's life
and my life was never dull."

Gentleman: "Then farewell my friend, my besotted old friend, as you
stagger into Satan's den. Just
don't spill a drop, not one tiny drop, whether it be wine or gin. For
you'll need it
there, where nobody cares, how a drunkard meets his end.