Mr Editor
As the Society of which you are the able Generalissimo occasionally love a laugh even at the expense of the learned professions, I have sent the enclosed “Jeu d’esprit” as an attack on their risible faculties.
It was occasioned by the serious loss to the church of a good Saturday’s dinner from the circumstance of a court in one of our large towns having sat to so late and hour, by the anxiety of the lawyers to get all their business done, that the dignitaries of the church who had been invited to partake of the feast that usually succeeds on such legal labours, found it necessary to creep home dinnerless to bed, or at least only such as their own cupboards could afford and unattended with the pomp and circumstance of a public feast, and I am very sure that many members of your Society are sufficiently admirers of the Epicurean as well as of the other distinguished sects of philosophy, heartily to sympathize with, however they may be inclined to laugh at the diappointment of the Rev. Gentlemen.
Yours
Epicuretto
“The guests now starve that causes may be tried”
(Pope travestied)
In full uniform, the turtle to storm
The church and the army had met
They waited till five, with hopes still alive
For in truth they were pretty sharp set.
At six some few scowl’d, at seven all growl’d
Their stomachs at eight “Cupboard cried”
At nine in a pet they went home for a whet
And swore that their patience was tried.
At last with a maw, as hungry as law
The court breaks up half after nine
At ten as I ween, with appetites keen
They sat down in order to dine.
But each Reverend Guest had crept home to rest
With stomach that had not a full pit
And some sad rogues say that all the next day
A languor pervaded the pulpit.