Right glad was I ere while to hear
My friend his kind intent with social warmth express
His purpose soon to taste my cheer
And make my wine some bottles less.
Since when of days full three times nine
Are gone and still I keep my wine
Chagrined, I late to Gifford hied
A sage deep-skill’d in antient lore
My disappointment told and sigh’d
And begg’d the reason he’d explore
“You ninny!” then the sage did say,
“Why you forgot to name the day”
(Learning how thy favourite son
Does every vulgar weight excel
He sees the deed ere it is done
And eggs can guess, unseen the shell
Soon as I heard this wise remark
I found my soul no longer dark)
“Get home,” he said, “and seize your pen
And on a clear wire-woven sheet
Of all you wish — the where and when
In civil phrase distinctly treat
And if you will, add this from me
Dear George I’ll make your number three”
Come then my reverend friend and cheer
On Thursday next my lonely dome
Nor doubt my stock of beef and beer
Tho’ my good-woman’s far from home
For still her care my household guides
And though not here, she here presides
Five be the hour and should we find
Some trifles want her ruling eye
The kindness of thy polished mind
Shall every petty want supply
Good nature in the well-bred guest
Still of his welcome makes the feast
W. Porden