Hard tack and cheese, good-bye!
“That bill o’ fare,” cried Abner Chapin, loud,
“Is pitched too high for this here Northern crowd:
New England rum, I spose, seems rather meek
’Longside peach-brandy down in Chesapeake.
I don’t de-cry your vittles, by no means,
But I prefer a pot of pork and beans
To all the canvas-backs that ever flew,
With soft-shell crabs and reed birds thereunto.
And all burnt offerins of fries of lambs