Heard ye the din of dinner bray?
Knife to fork, and fork to knife:
Unnumber'd heroes through the glorious strife,
Through fish, flesh, pies, and puddings cut their destin'd way.

See, beneath the mighty blade,
Gor'd with many a ghastly wound,
Low the fam'd Sir-loin is laid,
And sinks in many a gulph profound.
Arise, arise, ye sons of glory,
Pies and puddings stand before ye;
See, the ghosts of hungry bellies
Point at yonder stand of jellies;
While such dainties are beside ye.
Snatch the goods the gods provide ye:
Mighty rulers of this state,
Snatch before it be too late,
For, swift as thought, the puddings, jellies, pies,
Contract their giant bulks, and shrink to pigmy size.

From the table now retreating,
All around the fire they meet,
And, with wine, the sons of eating,
Crown, at length, the mighty treat:
Triumphant plenty's rosy graces
Sparkle in their jolly faces:
And mirth and cheerfulness are seen
In each countenance serene.
Fill high the sparkling glass,
And drink the accustom'd toast;