The consummate pleasure (in eating) is not in the costly flavour,
but in yourself. Do you seek for sauce read more

The consummate pleasure (in eating) is not in the costly flavour,
but in yourself. Do you seek for sauce for sweating?

Some men are born to feast, and not to fight;
Whose sluggish minds, e'en in fair honor's field,
read more

Some men are born to feast, and not to fight;
Whose sluggish minds, e'en in fair honor's field,
Still on their dinner turn--
Let such pot-boiling varlets stay at home,
And wield a flesh-hook rather than a sword.

"Good, well-dress'd turtle beats them hollow,--
It almost makes me wish, I vow,
To have two stomachs, read more

"Good, well-dress'd turtle beats them hollow,--
It almost makes me wish, I vow,
To have two stomachs, like a cow!"
And lo! as with the cud, an inward thrill
Upheaved his waistcoat and disturb'd his frill,
His mouth was oozing, and he work'd his jaw--
"I almost that that I could eat one raw."

One solid dish his week-day meal affords,
An added pudding solemniz'd the Lord's.

One solid dish his week-day meal affords,
An added pudding solemniz'd the Lord's.

Bad men live that they may eat and drink, whereas good men eat
and drink that they may live.

Bad men live that they may eat and drink, whereas good men eat
and drink that they may live.

Out did the meate, out did the frolick wine.

Out did the meate, out did the frolick wine.

Feast to-day makes fast to-morrow.
[Lat., Festo die si quid prodegeris,
Profesto egere liceat nisi peperceris.]

Feast to-day makes fast to-morrow.
[Lat., Festo die si quid prodegeris,
Profesto egere liceat nisi peperceris.]

A woman asked a coachman, "Are you full inside?" Upon which Lamb
put his head through the window and read more

A woman asked a coachman, "Are you full inside?" Upon which Lamb
put his head through the window and said, "I am quite full
inside; that last piece of pudding at Mr. Gillman's did the
business for me."

The poor man will praise it so hath he good cause,
That all the year eats neither partridge not read more

The poor man will praise it so hath he good cause,
That all the year eats neither partridge not quail,
But sets up his rest and makes up his feast,
With a crust of brown bread and a pot of good ale.