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Classic and Contemporary Poetry

THE TWOPENNY POST-BAG: LETTER 3 by THOMAS MOORE

First Line: WE MISS'D YOU LAST NIGHT AT THE 'HOARY OLD SINNER'S'
Last Line: TO HIS CORNWALL ACCOUNTS, AFTER TAKING A DOSE!
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 @3prime@1 --
His pates superb -- and his cutlets sublime!
In short, 'twas the snug sort of dinner to stir a
Stomachic orgasm in my Lord E -- gh,
Who @3set to@1, to be sure, with miraculous force,
And exclaim'd, between mouthfuls, "a @3He@1 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.
'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 @3my@1 brilliant triumph and H -- nt's condemnation;
A compliment, too, to his Lordship the J -- e
For his speech to the J -- y -- 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 cared not for juries or libels -- no -- damme! nor
E'en for the threats of last Sunday's Examiner!

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 @3hung@1-beef, my Lord, if YOU @3try@1 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-devised! --
Was, what old Mother Glasse calls, "a calf's-head surprised!"
The @3brains@1 were near -- ; and @3once@1 they'd been fin
But, of late, they had lain so long soaking in wine,
That, however we still might, in courtesy, call
Them a fine dish of brains, they were no brains at all

When the dinner was over, we drank, every one
In a bumper, "the venial delights of Crim. Con."
At which H -- d -- 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 kissing their dears:
This museum of wittols was comical rather;
Old H -- d -- t gave M -- y, and @3I@1 gave --.

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 juridicial fashion,
And through the whole night was @3not once@1 in a passion!

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



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