Strona 362 z 1116

Wail for the little partridges on porringer and plate; * Cry for

the ruin of the fries and stews well marinate: Keen as I keen for

loved, lost daughters of the Kata-grouse,[FN#239] * And omelette

round the fair enbrowned fowls agglomerate: O fire in heart of me

for fish, those deux poissons I saw, * Bedded on new made

scones[FN#240] and cakes in piles to laniate. For thee, O

vermicelli! aches my very maw! I hold * Without thee every taste

and joy are clean annihilate Those eggs have rolled their yellow

eyes in torturing pains of fire * Ere served with hash and

fritters hot, that delicatest cate. Praised be Allah for His

baked and roast and ah! how good * This pulse, these pot-herbs

steeped in oil with eysill combinate! When hunger sated was, I

elbow-propt fell back upon * Meat pudding[FN#241] wherein gleamed

the bangles that my wits amate. Then woke I sleeping appetite to

eat as though in sport * Sweets from broceded trays and kickshaws

most elaborate. Be patient, soul of me!