Mutton disgusts me simulating[3] ven’son,
Catch[4] me no fish hermetically fasten’d,
Harris, or oysters.
Still[5] I could feast on watery[6] potatoes.
Fill my friend’s lap[7] soups derelict[8], abandon’d
Sauces, rich gifts of charitable ocean
Cheaply benignant[9].
[1] Who this Harris was, is a point about which the commentators are at variance. Some say, but erroneously as I think, that he was the “puer,” the “minister,” of the poet. But this is not probable, for to such persons odes were not then commonly addressed. No! Harris was no servant, he was the friend, the “commensalis,” the fellow-messman of the author at the cuddy table; whom he may be supposed to be inviting to the erratic fish, which, under the influence of a gale, has become as locomotive as ever it was in its own native element.
[2] Why civic, since the entertainment was nautical? ask some matter-of-fact critics. Do not these blunderers perceive the delicately-veiled compliment to the owners of the vessel upon the richness and profusion of the viands?
[3] “Simulating ven’son.” This process is, unfortunately, in some degree lost to us. Some say that mutton was made to resemble venison, by being roasted with the wool on. Others, that it was the flesh of a seven-year old male, not a wether. But neither of these conjectures is correct. The meat was probably steeped in a brine compounded of wine, salt, spices, sugar, and other condiments, and sprinkled with Irish blackguard and brickdust.