The Poetical Works of Thomas Moore :: :: University of Virginia Library

We miss'd you last night at the “hoary old sinner's,”
Who gave us, as usual, the cream of good dinners;
His soups scientific—his fishes quite prime—
His pâtés superb—and his cutlets sublime!
In short, 'twas the snug sort of dinner to stir a
Stomachic orgasm in my Lord El---b---gh,
Who set to, to be sure, with miraculous force,
And exclaim'd, between mouthfuls, “a He-Cook, of course!—
“While you live—(what's there under that cover? pray, look)—
“While you live—(I'll just taste it)—ne'er keep a She-Cook.

109

“'Tis a sound Salic Law—(a small bit of that toast)—
“Which ordains that a female shall ne'er rule the roast;
“For Cookery's a secret—(this turtle's uncommon)—
“Like Masonry, never found out by a woman!”

The dinner, you know, was in gay celebration
Of my brilliant triumph and H---nt's condemnation;
A compliment, too, to his Lordship the Judge
For his Speech to the Jury—and zounds! who would grudge
Turtle soup, though it came to five guineas a bowl,
To reward such a loyal and complaisant soul?
We were all in high gig—Roman Punch and Tokay
Travell'd round, till our heads travell'd just the same way;
And we car'd not for Juries or Libels—no—damme! nor
Ev'n for the threats of last Sunday's Examiner!

110

More good things were eaten than said—but Tom T---rrh---t
In quoting Joe Miller, you know, has some merit;
And, hearing the sturdy Justiciary Chief
Say—sated with turtle—“ I'll now try the beef”—
Tommy whisper'd him (giving his Lordship a sly hit)
“I fear 'twill be hung-beef, my Lord, if you try it!”

And C---md---n was there, who, that morning, had gone
To fit his new Marquis's coronet on;
And the dish set before him—oh dish well-devis'd!—
Was, what old Mother Glasse calls, “a calf's head surpris'd!”
The brains were near Sh---ry, and once had been fine,
But, of late, they had lain so long soaking in wine,
That, though we, from courtesy, still chose to call
These brains very fine, they were no brains at all.

When the dinner was over, we drank, every one
In a bumper, “the venial delights of Crim. Con.;”

111

At which H---df---t with warm reminiscences gloated,
And E---b'r---h chuckled to hear himself quoted.

Our next round of toasts was a fancy quite new,
For we drank—and you'll own 'twas benevolent too—
To those well-meaning husbands, cits, parsons, or peers,
Whom we've, any time, honour'd by courting their dears:
This museum of wittols was comical rather;
Old H---df---t gave M*ss*y, and I gave your f*th*r.

In short, not a soul till this morning would budge—
We were all fun and frolic,—and even the J---e
Laid aside, for the time, his juridical fashion,
And through the whole night wasn't once in a passion!

I write this in bed, while my whiskers are airing,
And M*c has a sly dose of jalap preparing

112

For poor T*mmy T---rr---t at breakfast to quaff—
As I feel I want something to give me a laugh,
And there's nothing so good as old T*mmy, kept close
To his Cornwall accounts, after taking a dose.

This letter, as the reader will perceive, was written the day after a dinner given by the M*rq---s of H---d---t.

Colonel M'Mahon.