AT Number One dwelt Captain Drew, George Benson dwelt at Number Two, (The street we'll not now mention:) The latter stunned the King's Bench bar, The former being lamed in war, Sang small upon a pension. Tom Blewit knew them both: than he None deeper in the mystery Of culinary knowledge; From turtle soup to Stilton cheese, Apt student, taking his degrees In Mrs. Rundell's college. Benson to dine invited Tom: Proud of an invitation from A host who "spread" so nicely, Tom answered, ere the ink was dry, "Extremely happy -- come on Fri- Day next, at six precisely." Blewit, with expectation fraught, Drove up at six, each savoury thought Ideal turbot rich in: But, ere he reached the winning-post, He saw a haunch of ven'son roast Down in the next-door kitchen. "Hey! zounds! what's this? a haunch at Drews? I must drop in; I can't refuse; To pass were downright treason: To cut Ned Benson's not quite staunch; But the provocative -- a haunch! Zounds! it's the first this season. "Ven'son, thou'rt mine! I'll talk no more." Then, rapping thrice at Benson's door, "John, I'm in such a hurry; Do tell your master that my aunt Is paralytic, quite aslant, I must be off for Surrey." Now Tom at next door makes a din: "Is Captain Drew at home?" -- "Walk in." "Drew, how d'ye do?" -- "What! Blewit!" "Yes, I -- you've asked me, many a day, To drop in, in a quiet way, So now I'm come to do it." "I'm very glad you have," said Drew, "I've nothing but an Irish stew" -- Quoth Tom, (aside,) "No matter; 'Twont do -- my stomach's up to that -- 'Twill lie by, till the lucid fat Comes quiv'ring on the platter." "You see your dinner, Tom," Drew cried. "No, but I don't though," Tom replied; "I smoked below." -- "What?" -- "Ven'son -- A haunch." -- "Oh! true, it is not mine; My neighbour has some friends to dine." "Your neighbour! who?" -- "George Benson. "His chimney smoked; the scene to change, I let him have my kitchen range, While his was newly polished; The ven'son you observed below Went home just half an hour ago; I guess it's now demolished. "Tom, why that look of doubtful dread? Come, help yourself to salt and bread, Don't sit with hands and knees up; But dine, for once, off Irish stew, And read the 'Dog and Shadow' through, When next you open AEsop." | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...TO TIRZAH, FR. SONGS OF EXPERIENCE by WILLIAM BLAKE IN THE GARDEN (1) by EMILY DICKINSON THE CROSS; TO THE MOTHERS OF THE MARTYRED DEAD UPON FIELD OF BATTLE by JOSEPHINE TURCK BAKER RECOGNITION by SUSIE MONTGOMERY BEST LANDING AT DAWN by HARRY RANDOLPH BLYTHE BRITANNIA'S PASTORALS: BOOK 1. THE THIRD SONG by WILLIAM BROWNE (1591-1643) |