A postscript to the new Bath guide :: :: University of Virginia Library

The People of Bath, e'er since Quin's halcyon days,
On the Haunch and the Dory bestow ample praise,
And expend a great part of the Denizens' treasure,
In eating, which they think Life's primary pleasure:
Being known to the Mayor thro' a distant relation,
I was prest hard to dine with the whole Corporation:

As dinner was order'd precisely at three,
I reach'd the Town-Hall with their time to agree,
Where I found the gourmands all prepar'd cap-a-pee.
In the room tres magnifique—an elegant building!
Was a head of Minerva invelop'd by gilding:
The sprigs of virtù say 'twas done in a freak
By a worthy old magistrate—one Master Leake,
Who lov'd simple Truth, and abhorr'd the antique,
But especially her who taught Grecians their letters,
And made low Plebeians as wise as—their betters.
When Hunger had whetted my stomach's desires,
I took my seat next to some Somerset 'Squires:
When Alderman Stump (with two cheeks like two codlins,
Who resembles Old Stupid the provost of Maudlin's,
Tho' in nasal proportions the Cit's somewhat coarser)
Politely insisted I'd swallow a forcer!

His intentions at first I could not comprehend,
But he soon put my doubts and my fears at an end,
By calling a waiter, who stood by just handy,
To bring from the side-board a bumper of Brandy.—
The Guests all expectant, by this time near frantic,
Look'd like half-famish'd Sharks in the foaming Atlantic:
Three fourths had ta'en doses to aid Nature's pow'rs,
And each view'd his watch, and thought minutes were hours:
“Where the Devil's the Dinner?” claim'd one at the top,
“Where the Devil's the Dinner?” bawl'd Alderman Sop.
At length the long wish'd-for blest consequence came,
And the Cook op'd the door with his face in a flame,
Follow'd close by some dozens, who each bore a dish,
Encumber'd with Poultry, with Flesh, or with Fish.
We were all so close hemm'd, scarce an earthquake could rout us:
And Soups and Sirloins smoak'd abundant about us:

Now each seiz'd his prey ere the Cook could uncover,
And the Chaplain said grace—with his fork in a Plover.
I sat harrow'd with thought when I saw them begin,
And exclaim'd, Heaven help us if eating's a sin!
For all went to labour, like Masons at Babel,
And Confusion burst forward and govern'd the table:
Three fourths had assembled at gaunt Famine's call,
And 'twas each for himself, and the Lord for us all:
“Here Waiter, you Waiter—come, none of your sneers”—
“I have bawl'd my throat sore,—sure the scroundrels h's no ears?”
“More Bread—bring some Porter—you dog, where's the Mustard?”
“A wing of that Duck—more Leveret—some Custard!”
“Why all the fat's gone from the Turtle—here's manners!”
“Zounds! the geese are as tough as the hides of old tanners.”

“A Bottle of Wind there, for I and my Friend here.”—
“This Feast is not worth half the time that we spend here.”—
“Neighbour Spriggins—I challenge your glass Hob-a-Nob.”—
“Where the Devil's the Wen'son?—this Dinner's a job.”
“More Pepper—a slice of that Haunch where the rest cut—
“You Villain! the Gravy has spoil'd my new waistcoat.”
“I've been roaring for that Spanish Hingun this hour.”
“A morsel of Weal—'sblood the Sherry is sour.”—
Thus Anarchy's claims became broader and broader,
Till a voice from the chair thunder'd—‘Gentlemen, Order!’
Now silence prevail'd, and the Monster was tam'd,
Till—“all charge your Glasses” was loudly proclaim'd—
Then Bottles and Bowls went in quick circulation,
Full of liquor, that threaten'd a small inundation:

Often three hands at once grappled hard a decanter,
For Thirst conquer'd Mirth, and e'en Wit would not banter.
Here's the King! roar'd the Mayor with a sonorous sound,
“Here's the King!” echoed all the queer Banqueters round:
And to prime us with spirits before we sat down,
We all gave a bumper to one Mistress Brown.
Some growl'd this was doing the business too quickly,
But the few that demurr'd were or stupid or sickly:
And a Codger observ'd he was happy to dine,
When the Mayor knew his cue—for the Mayor deals in wine.

All the noise we had past, was yet nought to what follow'd,
Some grumbled—some curst, and some belch'd, and some halloo'd:
I shall never forget when the Pastry came in,
What a vehement shout—what a sense-stunning din!

The Cook had scarce plac'd the first Pye as Cooks must,
Before seven knives were stuck deep in the crust:
While others, sore gall'd that their neighbours had trick'd 'em,
Pick'd the juice from the edge with their fingers, and lick'd 'em:
But an old surly Cit, to accomplish his wishes,
Spread his wide broadcloth sleeves o'er the hot smoking dishes:
Then strove to impress them with Decency's rule,
By the subsequent Tale,—and the Cit was no fool.

CHRISTIAN ADMONITION.

A TALE.

WHEN bulwark-rending Winds in stern November
Disturb'd the bosom of the briny ocean,
A circumstance occurr'd, I well remember,
Which put my doubts of Priestly Zeal in motion.

'Twas on the Cornish coast,
Where Famine seldom finds a tender host:
While a huge Vicar was all-furious ranting,
And on the attributes of Heav'n descanting,
A Man, half breathless, ran into the Church,
And bawl'd—a Ship was driven on the shore!—
The congregation rais'd a hideous roar,
And rose to leave the Parson in the lurch.
Stop! rav'd the Priest, I have a word to say—
Before you run and pounce upon your prey,
Let me, I charge ye, utter a short prayer:
But first I must come down, my Christian chickens—
Report, my brethren, says, we've got a wreck,
From whence you all expect some pretty pickings:
As that's the case, let no one break his neck—
We'll all start fair.—