"GRAND NIGHTS."

O benchers of the various ancient Inns At whose so generous tables I have battened, Where potions of the best and fruitiest bins And fare on which Lucullus might have fattened Tend to reduce the awe Proper to laymen shadowed by the Law; How good I find it, full of meat, to sit (The while Oporto's juice of '87, Served on the polished board with silver lit, Heartens me to postpone the joys of Heaven) And hear, remotis curis, The legal jest, the apt scintilla juris. But most I compliment, with thanks profuse, The touch that gives your feasts their crowning savour, Whose absence must have marred the duckling mousse, Ruined the neige au Kirsch, and soured the flavour Of Madame Melba's peaches— I mean the pledge upon my card, "No Speeches." There's only one I like, and that's "The King"! (I give the text in full—no superfluities); Why should I have to hear some dodderer sing Praise of the Government (whichever crew it is), While some one else endorses The obvious merits of our fighting forces? If I have dined too well, to-morrow's cure Shall be the fine for my excessive feasting; But, at the night's tail-end, I can't endure A punishment that bores me like a bee-sting, Poisoning all the mirth That should companion my distended girth. For this relief from those who spoil the vine (How oft have I refused, O learned Benchers, For fear of speeches, other men's and mine, The chance of feeding off the choicest trenchers)— For this relief I rank you High up among my benefactors. Thank you.