Yet, anxious to be serviceable,
And do them all the good I can,
They learn, with me, to wait at table.
Patient as martyr at a stake,
I bear the baitings of relations,
Who give no quarter, while they make
O'er mangled lamb their lamentations.
I'm very slow about a brisket;
Bacon's a bore—at duck I quake;
To cut a pheasant's far from pleasant,