Dear Lucy, you know what my wish is, -- <br />I hate all your Frenchified fuss: <br />Your silly entrées and made dishes <br />Were never intended for us. <br />No footman in lace and in ruffles <br />Need dangle behind my arm-chair; <br />And never mind seeking for truffles, <br />Although they be ever so rare. <br /> <br />But a plain leg of mutton, my Lucy, <br />I pr'ythee get ready at three: <br />Have it smoking, and tender, and juicy, <br />And what better meat can here be? <br />And when it has feasted the master, <br />'Twill amply suffice for the maid; <br />Meanwhile I will smoke my canaster, <br />And tipple my ale in the shade.<br /><br />William Makepeace Thackeray<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/persicos-odi/
