Your steak till done—nor let it burn:
For nothing drives me half so wild
As a nice rump steak in the cooking spiled.
I’ve lived in pleasure mixed with grief,
On fish and fowl, and mutton and beef;
With plenty of cash, and power to range,
But my steak I never wished to change:
For a steak was always a treat to me,
At breakfast, luncheon, dinner, or tea.
Punch.