Hark to the clatter of the knives and forks, In go the corkscrews and out come the corks, Head waiter Smith bends 'neath a ponderous dish, One hopes a salmon, or some weightier fish, May be a turbot or a royal sturgeon-- The very thing one's appetite to urge on; Covers of every size bedeck the feast, The host has lots of "plate" to say the least; It may be _plated_, though, 'tis hard to know The real from sham, one does get puzzled so By new inventions--here's albata plate, Electro silver, numerous plans of late Beguile the senses of the wondering guest, And palm off drugs as equal to the best. But to the dinner; one would think, forsooth, 'Twould be a banquet worthy of the tooth Of any a city gourmand; wait a minute, Look at that dish, and mark ye what's there in it; It seem'd to promise turbot or a sturgeon, And lo! what's there? a pike set round with gudgeon! Its vis-à-vis contains a bit of beef Cut from a cow, that died last week of grief, At hearing of Sir Robert's new tariff. A brace of sickly chickens, tough and dried, Usurp the centre, flank'd on either side By bad potatoes, baked, boil'd, roast and fried. I'd most forgot a piece of veal and ham-- Try it--I'll bet a crown there's no one can. Such, with a few disgusting tarts and pies, Some cheese of which, at every mouthful, dies A host of ugly vermin; such your bill Of foul I call it--call it what you will. Off with the cloth! don't let a trace remain Of this vile medley. Off! I say again. Oh, Mr. Griffith,[1] take a friend's advice, Give the best dinner where you charge best price; 'Twould be far better for your credit's sake, As for your conscience; that, old Nick may take, If he will have it, which I greatly doubt, You are far too clever, he has found you out. Who's on his legs; hurrah, 'tis honest John,[2] That Fane of Fanes! What topic is he on; Hark, let us listen! What on earth's he at? He means some fun, rest well assured of that; Gazing around, with mirth-creating grin, Says he, "My friends, I scarce know where begin, I am so modest, spare my youthful blushes, I'm yet a colt and have not cut my tushes. I beg permission to propose a toast. Such as I guess, just now will please you most; Health and long life to that illustrious man, Our now high Sheriff, worthy neighbour Van. Sheriff! your health! and now with three times three, And as you love me! let it bumpers be; We'll drink his health, now Gents, your eyes on me." Finish'd the toast; High Sheriff! is the call; Oh, dear! he looks just now uncommon small, White as his choker, tho' blush-red by turns With hectic flush, his quivering forehead burns. At last for words he finds a labouring vent: "I thank you, Gentlemen, with best intent "To pay your kindness, with a due requite "Of mingled thanks, enhanced with delight. "As I am certainly not used to public speaking,