So exclaim’d a poor turnspit, their cook, who’d been toiling
All day very busily roasting or broiling.
At this moment that spoiler of pic-nics, a shower,
Obliged them to rush to the vine-cover’d bower,
Where in it—oh! joy to the hungry! they found
The repast long expected laid out on the ground.
They had raised to the office of “maître d’hotel”
The glutton, (and who could perform it so well?)
Who with excellent taste, and an eye to a share,
Had collected the following luxuries there:—