Faintly it wakes at the even chime,
The appetite long past its prime.
The supper-room at the Club looks dim.
What shall I "peck" for an epicure's whim?
Roe, Bloater's Roe! That's the brief repast
To tickle the palate, to break the fast!
They may prate of the pleasures of "early purl,"
Of the frizzled rasher's seductive curl,
But, when I fear I can munch no more,
When the thought of banquets becomes a bore,