My Life as an Author by Martin Farquhar Tupper
page 41 of 433 (09%)
page 41 of 433 (09%)
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compliments, "the author is in his sixteenth year,"--which fixes the
date. Possibly, a brief specimen or two of this may please: take the livelier first,--on French cookery: if trivial, the lines are genuine: I must not doctor anything up even by a word. "Now Muse, you must versify your very best, To sing how they ransack the East and the West, To tell how they plunder the North and the South For food for the stomach and zest for the mouth! Such savoury stews, and such odorous dishes, Such soups, and (at Calais) such capital fishes! With sauces so strange they disguise the lean meat That you seldom, or never, know what you're to eat; Such fricandeaux, fricassees epicurean, Such vins-ordinaires, and such banquets Circean,-- And the nice little nothings which very soon vanish Before you are able your plate to replenish,-- Such exquisite eatables! and for your drink Not porter or ale, but--what do you think? 'Tis Burgundy, Bourdeaux, real red rosy wine, Which you quaff at a draught, neat nectar, divine! Thus they pamper the taste with everything good And of an old shoe can make savoury food, But the worst of it is that when you have done You are nearly as famish'd as when you begun!" For a more serious morsel, take the closing lines on Rouen:-- "Yes, proud Cathedral, ages pass'd away While generations lived their little day,-- |
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