CCXLVII.

A breakfast of fowl, and fish, and flesh, Whatever was sweet, or salt, or fresh; With wines the most rare and curious-- Wines, of the richest flavor and hue; With fruits from the worlds both Old and New; And fruits obtain'd before they were due At a discount most usurious.

CCXLVIII.

For wealthy palates there be, that scout What is _in_ season, for what is _out_, And prefer all precocious savor: For instance, early green peas, of the sort That costs some four or five guineas a quart; Where the _Mint_ is the principal flavor.

CCXLIX.

And many a wealthy man was there, Such as the wealthy City could spare, To put in a portly appearance-- Men, whom their fathers had help'd to gild: And men, who had had their fortunes to build And--much to their credit--had richly fill'd Their purses by _pursy-verance_.

CCL.

Men, by popular rumor at least, Not the last to enjoy a feast!

And truly they were not idle!

Luckier far than the chestnut tits, Which, down at the door, stood champing their bits, At a different sort of bridle.

CCLI.

For the time was come--and the whisker'd Count Help'd his Bride in the carriage to mount, And fain would the Muse deny it, But the crowd, including two butchers in blue, (The regular killing Whitechapel hue,) Of her Precious Calf had as ample a view, As if they had come to buy it!

CCLII.

Then away! away! with all the speed That golden spurs can give to the steed,-- Both Yellow Boys and Guineas, indeed, Concurr'd to urge the cattle-- Away they went, with favors white, Yellow jackets, and panels bright, And left the mob, like a mob at night, Agape at the sound of a rattle.

CCLIII.

Away! away! they rattled and roll'd, The Count, and his Bride, and her Leg of Gold-- That faded charm to the charmer!

Away,--through old Brentford rang the din Of wheels and heels, on their way to win That hill, named after one of her kin, The Hill of the Golden Farmer!

CCLIV.

Gold, still gold--it flew like dust!

It tipp'd the post-boy, and paid the trust; In each open palm it was freely thrust; There was nothing but giving and taking!

And if gold could ensure the future hour, What hopes attended that Bride to her bow'r, But alas! even hearts with a four-horse pow'r Of opulence end in breaking!

HER HONEYMOON.

CCLV.

The moon--the moon, so silver and cold, Her fickle temper has oft been told, Now shady--now bright and sunny-- But of all the lunar things that change, The one that shows most fickle and strange, And takes the most eccentric range, Is the moon--so call'd--of honey!

CCLVI.

To some a full-grown orb reveal'd As big and as round as Norval's shield, And as bright as a burner Bude-lighted; To others as dull, and dingy, and damp, As any oleaginous lamp, Of the regular old parochial stamp, In a London fog benighted.

CCLVII.

To the loving, a bright and constant sphere, That makes earth's commonest things appear All poetic, romantic, and tender: Hanging with jewels a cabbage-stump, And investing a common post, or a pump, A currant-bush, or a gooseberry clump, With a halo of dreamlike splendor.

CCLVIII.

A sphere such as shone from Italian skies, In Juliet's dear, dark, liquid eyes, Tipping trees with its argent braveries--

And to couples not favor'd with Fortune's boons One of the most delightful of moons, For it brightens their pewter platters and spoons Like a silver service of Savory's!

CCLIX.

For all is bright, and beauteous, and clear, And the meanest thing most precious and dear When the magic of love is present: Love, that lends a sweetness and grace To the humblest spot and the plainest face-- That turns Wilderness Row into Paradise Place, And Garlick Hill to Mount Pleasant!

CCLX.

Love that sweetens sugarless tea, And makes contentment and joy agree With the coarsest boarding and bedding: Love, that no golden ties can attach, But nestles under the humblest thatch, And will fly away from an Emperor's match To dance at a Penny Wedding!

CCLXI.

Oh, happy, happy, thrice happy state, When such a bright Planet governs the fate Of a pair of united lovers!

'Tis theirs, in spite of the Serpent's hiss, To enjoy the pure primeval kiss, With as much of the old original bliss As mortality ever recovers!

CCLXII.

There's strength in double joints, no doubt, In double X Ale, and Dublin Stout, That the single sorts know nothing about-- And a fist is strongest when doubled-- And double aqua-fortis, of course, And double soda-water, perforce, Are the strongest that ever bubbled!

CCLXIII.

There's double beauty whenever a Swan Swims on a Lake, with her double thereon; And ask the gardener, Luke or John, Of the beauty of double-blowing-- A double dahlia delights the eye; And it's far the loveliest sight in the sky When a double rainbow is glowing!