Close and muggy was the morn.
To stop my nose, alas! is vain;
John, bring the salmon up again.
Hide that fat, more white than snow,
Which the ven’son’s bosom bears;
To the haunch mine eyes will grow,
Such a tempting form it wears;
If my tongue from taste were free,
Many a slice I’d eat of thee.
Rhapsodies, by W. H. Ireland, 1803.