New Collected Rhymes by Andrew Lang
page 32 of 63 (50%)
page 32 of 63 (50%)
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THE FOOD OF FICTION
To breakfast, dinner, or to lunch My steps are languid, once so speedy; E'en though, like the old gent in PUNCH, "Not hungry, but, thank goodness! greedy." I gaze upon the well-spread board, And have to own--oh, contradiction! Though every dainty it afford, There's nothing like the food of fiction. "The better half"--how good the sound! Of Scott's or Ainsworth's "venison pasty," In cups of old Canary drowned, (Which probably was very nasty). The beefsteak pudding made by Ruth To cheer Tom Pinch in his affliction, Ah me, in all the world of truth, There's nothing like the food of fiction! The cakes and ham and buttered toast That graced the board of Gabriel Varden, In Bracebridge Hall the Christmas roast, Fruits from the Goblin Market Garden. And if you'd eat of luscious sweets And yet escape from gout's infliction, Just read "St. Agnes' Eve" by Keats - There's nothing like the food of fiction. |
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