Yes, soon he lost all warmth of feeling: The social buzz became a bore, And all those beauties, once appealing, Were objects of his thought no more. Inconstancy grew too fatiguing; And friends and friendship less intriguing; For after all he couldn’t drain An endless bottle of champagne To help those pies and beefsteaks settle, Or go on dropping words of wit With throbbing head about to split: And so, for all his fiery mettle, He did at last give up his love Of pistol, sword, and ready glove. 38 We still, alas, cannot forestall it— This dreadful ailment’s heavy toll; The spleen is what the
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