Nothing to Eat | Page 6

all he can lift--
And Colonel, that turkey, you know 't is my wish--

You know that Excelsior's your motto in carving--
As nothing more
now we shall have on the table
"We'll eat and give thanks this day
that we're able
To keep our poor bodies entirely from starving.
Now Susan's this all that you've been able to pick up?
Oh, no! there's
a ham, and it's done to a turn
So nice, that the nose of a Jew needn't
stick up;
And a tongue--well, a tongue I never could spurn;
It's nice
while the wine at our leisure we sip;
And good with a cracker in wine
we can dip.
[Illustration: "MY APPETITE'S NONE OF THE BEST AND SO I
MUST PAMPER THE DELICATE THING. AND TICKLE A
FANCY THAT'S VERY CAPRICIOUS WITH BITS OF A
TURKEY, THE BREAST OR THE WING. WITH KIRF VERY
TENDER AND GRAVY DELICIOUS."]
Mrs. Merdle Accepteth of a slight Dinner, suitable for a Woman
suffering with Dyspepsia.
Some turkey? why yes--the least mite will suffice;
A side bone and
dressing and bit of the breast;
The tip of the rump--that's it--and one
o' the fli's--
In spite of the doctor: my appetite's none of the best,

And so I must pamper the delicate thing,
And tickle a fancy that's
very capricious
With bits of a turkey, the breast or the wing,
With
beef very tender, and gravy delicious.
Some beef now? I thank you, not any at present;
I'll nibble a little at
what I have got,
And wish for a duck, or a grouse, or a pheasant,


Though none of them come for a wish, in the pot.
Mrs. Merdle Discourseth of Wishes and her Sufferings.
'If wishes were horses'--I've heard when a girl--
'If wishes were
horses, the beggars would ride'--
If wishes were pheasants, I'd wish
with a skirl
Till cooked ones came flying and sat by my side.
A fig, then, for doctors, their tinctures and drugs;
Good eating would
cure me, with plenty of game;
And as for pill boxes, and bottles, and
jugs,
I wouldn't know one, when I saw it, by name.
Oh, dear! such a load now my stomach oppresses,
While eating these
trifles, attempting to dine--
I'm sure 'taint the turkey--it must be my
dresses--
And if so 't will ease them to sip sherry wine.
'Tis sad, though, to be such a sad invalid--
Dear me, Colonel
Dinewell, you've done eating meat--
Your doctor, like mine, I hope
hasn't forbid,
That you shouldn't have, as I do, so little to eat.
Ah!
well then, I see, though I've hardly begun,
The meats and the solids
must go right away;
So bring in the pudding, if Susan's got one,

Which will for a while one's appetite stay.
Mrs. Merdle Discourseth of Pudding.
A pudding! why yes, as I live, too, it's plum;
So plain, Susan makes
them on purpose for me
I never refuse, when the plum puddings
come,
To finish my dinner, if finished 't can be
On things
unsubstantial, like puddings and pies,
So made up of suet, and
currants, and flour,
Like this one before us, to get up the size,
And
stirred up and beaten with eggs by the hour,
With bread crumbs, and
citron, and small piece of mace;
With nutmeg, and cinnamon, and
sugar, and milk,
And" currants, and raisins, and spices so race,
And
what else I know not of things of that ilk.

The whole after cooking six hours at the least,
When thus well
compounded with delicate skill,
With wine sauce is eaten, to finish
the feast,
And suits the digestion of ladies quite ill,
Who suffer as I
do, from having bad cooks,
And very weak stomachs, and food that
near kills 'em;
And then such a sight of bad rules in the books
From
contents to finis, to cure one that fills 'em.
[Illustration: "FOR NOTHING TO CURE WITH IS USED BUT
COLD WATER: AND WHAT WITH THE BATHING AND
WASHING AND SCRUBBING--"]
There's one of all others so much recommended
To cure every ill of
old Eve's every daughter,
With nothing or next to't, for medicine
expended,
For nothing to cure with is used but cold water.
And what with the bathing, and washing, and scrubbing;
The packing,
and sweating, and using the sheet;
The shower bath, and douche bath,
and all sorts of rubbing; And literally nothing but brown bread to eat,

No wonder the patient accepts of the lure,
To escape such a ducking,
acknowledged a cure.
But Lord, what a skein I have made of my yarn,
While Susan's
arranging and changing the plates,
And running all round old Robin
Hood's barn,
Like puzzles at school that we made on our slates;
But
talking of puzzles, no one that we made,
While playing the fool we
played as a trade,
When childhood and folly joined hands at the
schools,
Could equal the pranks of these cold-water fools.
Yes, yes, Mr. Merdle, I knew by the smelling
The pudding was ready,
without any telling;
So Colonel, I'll help you a delicate slice--
For
nothing, I'm sure, like a dinner you've eaten--
And afterwards follow
with jelly and ice,
So pleasant while waiting to