Oh withered man! hush your howls, I don’t wish to listen to news of your bow’ls, A Gentleman knows when one fouls, One should close one’s droopy jowls. Heed my words you wizened old fool, Did they not teach you in Preparatory School, Not to moan, shout, bark or drool, When you pass an everyday stool. A Gentleman knows when to exclaim, The passing of a monstrous stain, It brings the County widespread acclaim, And indeed a modicum of fame. But for your stool, my heart’s no pity, As your passing is neither large, nor pretty, It would not pass the acceptance committee, Of a Southern town or Northern city. It resembles, in shape, an ethnic splatter, A Gentleman’s should be smooth and fatter, Now shoo old man, I’ve no time to natter, I’ve a championship record to go and shatter.