Whose evil stars have urged him forth to claim,
On such a day, the hospitable rites!
Looks blank at best, and stinted courtesy,
Shall he receive. Vainly he feeds his hopes
With dinner of roast chickens, savory pie,
Or tart, or pudding: pudding he nor tart
That day shall eat; nor, though the husband try,
Mending what can’t be helped, to kindle mirth
From cheer deficient, shall his consort’s brow,
Clear up propitious;—the unlucky guest