MAGOG.
I vow I can no longer stay;
I say, are we to dine to-day?
GOG.
My hunger would provoke a saint,
I’ve waited till I’m sick and faint;
I’ll tell you what, they’ll starve us both,
I’ll tell you what, they’ll stop our growth.
MAGOG.
I wish I had a round of beef
My hungry tooth to charm;
I’ve wind enough in my inside
To play the Hundredth Psalm.
GOG.
And yet they feast beneath our eyes
Without the least remorse;
This very week I saw the Mayor
A feeding like a horse!
MAGOG.
Such loads of fish, and flesh, and fowl,
To think upon it makes me growl!