Great epoch in the history of bards!
Important day to those who woo the nine;
Better than fame, are visitation cards,
And heaven on earth, at a great house to dine.

O cruel memory! do not conjure up
The ghost of Sally Dab, the famous cook;
Who gave me solid food, the cheering cup,
And on her virtues, begg'd I'd write a book.

Rest, goddess, from all broils! I bless thy name
Dear kitchen-nymph, as ever eyes did glut on!
I'd give thee all I have, my slice of fame,
If thou, dear shade! could'st give one slice of mutton.

Yet hold-ten minutes more, and I am blest;
Fly quick, ye seconds; quick ye moments, fly:
Soon shall I put my hunger to the test,
And all the host of miseries defy.

Thrice is he arm'd, who hath his dinner first,
For well-fed valor always fights the best;
And tho' he may of over-eating burst,
His life is happy, and his death is blest.

To-day I dine-not on my usual fare;
Not near the sacred mount with skinny nine;
Not in the park upon a dish of air:
But on real eatables, and rosy wine.

Delightful task! to cram the hungry maw,
To teach the empty stomach how to fill,
To pour red port adown the parched craw;
Without one dread dessert-to pay the bill.

I'm off-methinks I smell the long-lost savor;
Hail, platter sound! to poet, music sweet:
Now grant me, Jove, if not too great a favor,
Once in my life, as much as I can eat!