[From the St. Fames Gazette].

Though the soup may be clear and the fish may be good,

And the lamb and the sparrowgrass tender. How on earth can a person attend to the food.

That attendants so fair to him tender.

Though each dish be success, and the menu complete,

And the table could not be laid neater, Yet I languidly let fall the spoon in the sweet,

Since my thoughts turn to something far sweeter.

Though the Glessler right up to the Drim of the glass.

Like a scuffle of diamonds be creaming, It looks dull when I glance at the eyes of the lass.

That just over my shoulder are gleaming.

No, give me the waiter's thick hands and white tie,

When I wish to persistently gobble. For I can't feast my mouth when I'm feasting my eye,

Nor digest when my heart's on the wobble.