Better versed in man’s cuisine;
Not a bun or tartlet, graced
With sweeping petticoat of paste,
Not an oily rasher or creamy cheese,
Or liver so gay in its silver chemise;
Not a dish by artiste for alderman made,
Ever escaped my foraging raid
For when the mice pour on pantry and store,
In foray or fight, I am aye to the fore.
IV