Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, SOUTH-DOWN MUTTON, by HORACE SMITH


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Classic and Contemporary Poetry

SOUTH-DOWN MUTTON, by                     Poet's Biography
First Line: If men, when in a rage, inspected
Last Line: "I thought you meant to dine down stairs!"
Alternate Author Name(s): Smith, Horatio
Subject(s): Anger; Food & Eating; Temperance; Prohibition


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,
Deemed 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, tete-a-tete,
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 followed,
Called it a prize -- a lucky hit --
A gem -- a pearl more exquisite
Than ever Cleopatra swallowed;
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
Tucked 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 reached the stair-head at a jump,
And threw the blade in fury down,
Venting unnumbered 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, answered 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!"





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