Such music baffles human talk,
And gags each genial guest;
A grillroom orchestra can baulk
All efforts to digest,
Till the chops will not lie still, but walk
All night upon one's chest.
....*....*....*....*
Six times a table here he booked,
Six times he sat and scann'd
The list of dishes, badly cooked
By the chef's unskilful hand;
And I never saw a man who looked
So wistfully at the band.
He did not swear or tear his hair,
But ordered wine galore,
As though it were some vintage rare
From an old Falernian store;
With open mouth he slaked his drouth,
And loudly called for more.
He was the type that waiters know,
Who simply lives to feed,
Who little cares what food they show
If it be food indeed,
Who, when his appetite is low,
Falls back upon his greed.
For each man eats his fav'rite meats,
(Provided by his wife);
Or cheese or chalk, or peas or pork,
(For such, alas! is life!)
The rich man eats them with a fork,
The poor man with a knife.