RECITATIVE. 'Twas at the Gates of _Calais, Hogarth_ tells, Where sad Despair and Famine always dwells, A meagre _Frenchman_, Madam _Grandsire's_ cook, As home he steer'd his carcase, that way took, Bending beneath the weight of fam'd _Sir-loin_, On whom he often wish'd in vain to dine. Good Father _Dominick_ by chance came by, With rosy gills, round paunch, and greedy eye; Who, when he first beheld the greasy load, His benediction on it he bestow'd; And while the solid fat his finger press'd, He lick'd his chaps, and thus the knight address'd: AIR. _A lovely Lass to a Friar came_, &c. O rare _Roast Beef!_ lov'd by all mankind, If I was doom'd to have thee, When dress'd and garnish'd to my mind, And swimming in thy gravy, Not all thy country's force combin'd Should from my fury save thee. Renown'd _Sir-loin_, oft-times decreed The theme of _English_ ballad, E'en kings on thee have deign'd to feed, Unknown to _Frenchman's_ palate; Then how much more thy taste exceeds Soup-meagre, frogs, and sallad. RECITATIVE. A half-starv'd soldier, shirtless, pale and lean, Who such a sight before had never seen, Like _Garrick's_ frighted _Hamlet_, gaping stood, And gaz'd with wonder on the _British_ food. His morning's mess forsook the friendly bowl, And in small streams along the pavement stole; He heav'd a sigh, which gave his heart relief, And then in plaintive tone declar'd his grief. AIR. Ah, sacre Dieu! vat do I see yonder, Dat looks so tempting, red and white? Begar I see it is de _Roast Beef_ from _Londre_, O grant to me one letel bite. But to my guts if you give no heeding, And cruel Fate dis boon denies, In kind compassion to my pleading, Return, and let me feast my eyes. RECITATIVE. His fellow guard, of right _Hibernian_ clay, Whose brazen front his country did betray, From _Tyburn's_ fatal tree had hither fled, By honest means to get his daily bread; Soon as the well-known prospect he espy'd, In blubbering accents dolefully he cried: AIR. _Ellen a Roon_, &c. Sweet _Beef_, that now causes my stomach to rise. Sweet _Beef_, that now causes my stomach to rise, So taking thy sight is, My joy that so light is, To view thee, by pailfuls runs out at my eyes. While here I remain, my life's not worth a farthing, While here I remain, my life's not worth a farthing, Ah! hard-hearted _Lewy_, Why did I come to ye? The gallows, more kind, would have sav'd me from starving.