Hemade the paramour a grave harangue
          Don’t others give, said he, the poignant pang;
          But ev’ry one allow to keep his own,
          As God and reason oft to man have shown,
          And recommended fully to observe;
          You from it surely have not cause to swerve;
          You cannot plead that you for beauty pine
          You’ve one at home who far surpasses mine;
          No longer give yourself such trouble, pray: 
          You, to my help-mate, too much honour pay;
          Such marked attentions she can ne’er require
          Let each of us, alone his own admire. 
          To others’ WELLs you never ought to go,
          While your’s with sweets is found to overflow;
          I willingly appeal to connoisseurs;
          If heav’n had blessed me with such bliss as your’s,
          That when I please, your lady I could take,
          I would not for a queen such charms forsake. 
          But since we can’t prevent what now is known,
          I wish, good sir, contented with your own,
          (And ’tis, I hope, without offence I speak,)
          You’ll favours from my wife no longer seek.

          Themaster, neither no nor yes replied,
          But orders gave, his man they should provide;
          For dinner ev’ry day, what pleased his taste,
          A pie of eels, which near him should be placed.

          Hisappetite at first was wond’rous great;
          Again, the second time, as much he ate;
          But when the third appeared, he felt disgust,
          And not another morsel down could thrust. 
          The valet fain would try a diff’rent dish;
          ’Twas not allowed;—­you’ve got, said they, your wish;
          ’Tis pie alone; you like it best you know,
          And no objection you must dare to show.

          I’msurfeited, cried he, ’tis far too much: 
          Pie ev’ry day! and nothing else to touch! 
          Not e’en a roasted eel, or stewed, or fried! 
          Dry bread I’d rather you’d for me provide. 
          Of your’s allow me some at any rate,
          Pies, (devil take them!) thoroughly I hate;
          They’ll follow me to Paradise I fear,
          Or further yet;—­Heav’n keep me from such cheer!

          Theirnoisy mirth the master thither drew,
          Who much desired the frolick to pursue;
          My friend, said he, I greatly feel surprise,
          That you so soon are weary grown of pies;
          Have I not heard you frequently declare,
          Eel-pie ’s of all, the most delicious fare? 
          Quite fickle, certainly, must be your taste;
          Can any thing in me so strange be traced? 
          When I exchange a food which you admire;
          You blame and say, I never ought to tire;