Mrs. Merdle goes to Market.
With prices outrageous they charge now for meat,
And servants so worthless are every day growing,
I wonder we get half enough now to eat,
And shouldn't if 't want for the fact of my going
To market to cheapen potatoes and beef,
And talk to the butchers about their abuses,
And listen to stories beyond our belief,
They tell while they cheat us, by way of excuses.
And grocers—do tell us—is 't legal to charge
Such prices for sugar, and butter, and flour?
Oh, why don't the Mayor in his wisdom enlarge
Both weight and measure as he does 'doubtful power?'
The Dinner-bell Rings.
Mrs. Merdle Describes the Sufferings of Dyspepsia and its Remedy.
But come, now, I hear by the sound of the ringing
That dinner is ready; and time none to spare
To finish our eating in time for the singing
At Niblo's; or at Burton's drop in for a stare.
To 'kill time' the object, whatever the source is,
And that is the reason we sit at the table
And call for our dinner in slow-coming courses,
To kill, while we eat, all the time we are able.
Though little, I told you, that's worthy your taste
You'll find on our table, pray don't think us mean—
Your welcome is ample—that's better than waste—
Oh! here comes the soup in a silver tureen—
'Tis mock turtle too—so good for digestion:
That kills me by inches, the wretched complaint
Dyspepsia—to cure which, I take by suggestion
Port-wine in the soup, when I feel slightly faint.
The Dinner Table Talk.
Now soup, if you like made of beef very nice,
You'll find this the next thing to the height of perfection;
And eaten with ketchup, or thickened with rice,
Will suit you I know, if this is your selection.
My own disposition to this one inclines,
But dreadful dyspepsia destroys all the pleasure
Of dinner, except it's well tinctured with wines
Which plan I adopt as a health-giving measure.
A table well ordered, well furnished, and neat,
No wonder our nature for ever is tempting;
And I'd like to know if Mahomet could beat
Its pleasures—dyspepsia for ever exempting—
With all that he promised in paradise gained,
With Houris attendant in place of the churls
With which we are worried, tormented, and pained—
The colored men servants, or green Irish girls.