'Regarding sending up the dinner,'
Alter the clock when you begin it,
And you'll be ready to a minute.
One secret now I'll not conceal,—
Whene'er you roast a breast of veal,
The sweetbread is the Butler's luncheon,
Whoever may go short of munching.
If it be 'asked for,' make excuses
For what so many sweets produces;
Yet, O beware, his faith to prove,