by: W.M. Thackeray (1811-1863)
POEMS BY W.M. THACKERAY
- EAR Lucy, you know what my wish
- I hate all your Frenchified fuss:
- Your silly entrées and made dishes
- Were never intended for us.
- No footman in lace and in ruffles
- Need dangle behind my arm-chair;
- And never mind seeking for truffles,
- Although they be ever so rare.
- But a plain leg of mutton, my Lucy,
- I pr'ythee get ready at three:
- Have it smoking, and tender, and juicy,
- And what better meat can there be?
- And when it has feasted the master,
- 'Twill amply suffice for the maid;
- Meanwhile I will smoke my canaster,
- And tipple my ale in the shade.