There were oysters, and salads, and porter,
Scotch collops, roast pig, and boiled fowl,
And glasses of brandy and water,
And plenty of punch in a bowl.
The guests they sat merrily down,
Determined to eat and drink hearty,
And nothing was talked of in town,
But Old Madam Fig’s dashing party.
Sing turnips, and carrots, and greens,
Sing candles, red-herrings, and tea.
Of all the gay parties I’ve seen,
’Tis Madam Fig’s Gala for me.