Dear Lucy, you know what my wish is, -- I hate all your Frenchified fuss: Your silly @3entrees@1 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. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...HYMN: FIRST SUNDAY AFTER EPIPHANY: 2 by REGINALD HEBER THE BUILDERS OF THE ARK by MARIA ABDY SATIRE: 6 by AULUS PERSIUS FLACCUS MALLY'S MEEK, MALLY'S SWEET by ROBERT BURNS MY NANNIE'S AWA (1) by ROBERT BURNS TO MISTRESS KATHERNE NEVILLE, ON HER GREEN SICKNESS by THOMAS CAREW |