Classic Poem

What ? Forty-six quarts of water
To eleven stone of man?
You're wrong in your figures, Mister,
If you talk of an Isthmian!
Come down and live in the tropics,
And perspire a year or two;
Then alter your calculations
Till they're somewhat nearer true!

Instead of quarts say gallons —
And even then you'll be
Full many a cask found lacking
Of the proper quantity!
Why, bless your soul and body,
When the sun shines after a show'r,
Most men will sweat a hogshead
Of water in an hour!

And therein lies the marvel,
If one stops to think awhile;
'Tis a puzzle where it comes from
In such a liquid pile!
Is't the dampness of the climate,
Or something far more queer?
One thing is mighty certain:
Folks don't drink water here!