The Poetical Works of Horace Smith :: :: University of Virginia Library

If men, when in a rage, inspected
Before a glass their angry features,
Most likely they would stand corrected
At sight of such distorted creatures;
So we may hold a moral mirror
Before these myrmidons of passion,
And make ill temper see its error,
By gravely mimicking its fashion.

A sober Cit of Sweeting's Alley,
Deem'd a warm man on 'Change, was what
In temper might be reckoned hot,
Indulging many an angry sally

Against his wife and servants:—(this
Is no unprecedented state
For man and wife, when, tête-à-tête,
They revel in domestic bliss,)—
But to show off his freaks before his
Guests, was contra bonos mores.

Our Cit was somewhat of a glutton,
Or epicure, at least in mutton;
Esteeming it a more delicious
Feast, than those of old Apicius,
Crassus' savoury symposia,
Or even Jupiter's ambrosia.

One day a leg arrived from Brighton,
A true South Down legitimate,
When he enlarged with much delight on
The fat and grain, and shape and weight;
Pronounced on each a learned stricture,
Declared the joint a perfect picture,

And as his eye its outline follow'd,
Call'd it a prize—a lucky hit—
A gem—a pearl more exquisite
Than ever Cleopatra swallow'd;
Promulging finally, this fiat—
“I'll dine at five, and ask Jack Wyatt.”

The cover raised, the meat he eyed
With new enjoyment—next the cloth he
Tuck'd in his button-hole, and cried,
“Done to a tittle—brown and frothy!”
Then seized the carving-knife, elate,
But lo! it would not penetrate
The skin—(the anatomic term is
The what-d'-ye-call?—ay—epidermis.)

He felt the edge—'twas like a dump;
Whereat with passion-crimson'd frown,
He reach'd the stair-head at a jump,
And threw the blade in fury down,

Venting unnumber'd curses on
His thoughtless lazy servant—John.

His guest, observing this disclosure
Of temper, threw with great composure
The dish, with mutton, spoons and all,
Down helter-skelter to the hall,
Where it arrived with fearful clatter.
“Zounds!” cried the Cit,—“why, what's the matter?”
“Nothing whatever,” with a quiet
Look and accent, answer'd Wyatt:
“I hope I haven't unawares
Made a mistake; but when you threw
The knife below, in such a stew,
I thought you meant to dine down stairs!”