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Blest be those feasts, with simple plenty crowned,
Where all the ruddy family around
Laugh at the read more
Blest be those feasts, with simple plenty crowned,
Where all the ruddy family around
Laugh at the jests or pranks that never fail
Or sigh with pity at some mournful tale.
He pares his apple that will cleanly feed.
He pares his apple that will cleanly feed.
Though we eat little flesh and drink no wine,
Yet let's be merry; we'll have tea and toast;
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Though we eat little flesh and drink no wine,
Yet let's be merry; we'll have tea and toast;
Custards for supper, and an endless host
Of syllabubs and jellies and mince-pies,
And other such ladylike luxuries.
We may live without poetry, music and art;
We may live without conscience, and live without heart;
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We may live without poetry, music and art;
We may live without conscience, and live without heart;
We may live without friends; we may live without books;
But civilized man cannot live without cooks.
He may live without books,--what is knowledge but grieving?
He may live without hope,--what is hope but deceiving?
He may live without love,--what is passion but pining?
But where is the man that can live without dining?
For, behold, the Lord, the Lord of hosts, doth take away from
Jerusalem and from Judah the stay and read more
For, behold, the Lord, the Lord of hosts, doth take away from
Jerusalem and from Judah the stay and the staff, the whole stay
of bread, and the whole stay of water.
Oh, dainty and delicious!
Food for the gods! Ambrosia for Apicius!
Worthy to thrill the soul of read more
Oh, dainty and delicious!
Food for the gods! Ambrosia for Apicius!
Worthy to thrill the soul of sea-born Venus,
Or titillate the palate of Silenus!
When mighty roast beef was the Englishman's food
It ennobled our hearts and enriched our blood--
Our read more
When mighty roast beef was the Englishman's food
It ennobled our hearts and enriched our blood--
Our soldiers were brave and our courtiers were good.
Oh! the roast beef of England.
And Old England's roast beef.
'Tis not her coldness, father,
That chills my labouring breast;
It's that confounded cucumber
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'Tis not her coldness, father,
That chills my labouring breast;
It's that confounded cucumber
I've ate and can't digest.
Free livers on a small scale; who are prodigal within the compass
of a guinea.
Free livers on a small scale; who are prodigal within the compass
of a guinea.