When looks convey'd th' enamour'd thought;
From breast to breast while raptures bound,
He prais'd the varied prospects round,
Compar'd each Lass to Beauty's Queen,
And own'd it an Elysian scene,
The jolly God smil'd all propitious,
But ah! how fatally capricious....
It chanc'd, amidst this humble Feast,
A cup of YORKSHIRE DIP was plac'd ...
A pudding-sauce well-known of yore,