Which got proportionably spare and skinny When, lo! to prove each prophet was a ninny, To aggravate the case, There were but two grown donkeys in the place; Of milk, or even chalk and water. No matter at the usual hour of eight He doesn't give no milk So runs the story, but I'ze brought ye Jack, And, in vain self-glory, but he can bray.” Some Saints would sneer at Gubbins for his blindness; But what the better are their pious saws To ailing souls, than dry hee-haws, Without the milk of human kindness ? A TABLE OF ERRATA. (Hostess loquitur.) WELL! thanks be to Heaven, The summons is given ; It's only gone seven, And should have been six; There's fine overdoing How dreadfully chilly! And never will learn Now then for some blunder Whatever goes ill. That fish is a riddle! It's broke in the middle. A Turbot! a fiddle! It's only a Brill ! It's quite over-boiled too, The soap is all spoiled too, That Cook shall not stop! As sure as the morning, There's nothing to eat! I hear such a rushing, Friends flatter and flatter, That nothing comes next? I'm born to be vext! The pudding brought on too, The plague that he is? He's off on some ramble: And there is Miss Campbell, Enjoying the scramble, Detestable Quiz! The veal they all eye it, An Ogre would shy it So rudely as that! And as for the mutton, The cold dish it's put on Converts to a button Each drop of the fat. The beef without mustard! My fate's to be flustered, And there comes the custard To eat with the hare! Such flesh, fowl, and fishing, A woman might swear! O dear! did I ever That woodcocks are drawn! It's really audacious ! That came for a cram ! Were boiled with the ham! Well, where is the curry? I'm all in a flurry. No, Cook's in no hurry A stoppage again! And John makes it wider, A pretty provider! By bringing up cider Instead of champagne ! My troubles come faster! And hardly can sit : He cannot help seeing, I'm off in a fit! This cooking?-it's messing E Are best with good eggs. How shall I get through it P I'm quite looking to it, To sink by and by. O! would I were dead now, Or up in my bed now, "Glorious Apollo from on high behold us." — Old Song. As latterly I chanced to pass A Public House, from which, alas ! My ear was startled by a din, That made me tremble in my skin, |