Two centuries of song : or, Lyrics, madrigals, sonnets, and other occasional verses of the English poets of the last two hundred years . A sort of soup, or broth, or hotchpotch of all sorts of fishes, That Greenwich never could outdo ;Green herbs, red peppeis, mussels, saffern. Soles, onions, garlic, roach, and dace ;All these you eat at Terras tavern In that one dish of Bouillabaisse. ***** I wonder if the house still there is ? Yes, here the lamp is, as before ;The smiling red-cheeked dcaillfere is Still opening oysters at the Terre still alive and able ? I recollect his drol
Two centuries of song : or, Lyrics, madrigals, sonnets, and other occasional verses of the English poets of the last two hundred years . A sort of soup, or broth, or hotchpotch of all sorts of fishes, That Greenwich never could outdo ;Green herbs, red peppeis, mussels, saffern. Soles, onions, garlic, roach, and dace ;All these you eat at Terras tavern In that one dish of Bouillabaisse. ***** I wonder if the house still there is ? Yes, here the lamp is, as before ;The smiling red-cheeked dcaillfere is Still opening oysters at the Terre still alive and able ? I recollect his droll grimace ;Hed come and smile before your table. And hoped you liked your Bouillabaisse. We enterânothings changed or older. â Hows Monsieur Terre, Waiter, pray ? The waiter stares and shrugs his shoulderâ Monsieur is dead this many a is the lot of saint and sinner, So honest Terres run his will Monsieur require for Say, do you still cook Bouillabaisse ? Oh, oui, Monsieur,s the waiters answer; Quel vin Monsieur desire-t-il. Tell me a good oneâ That I can, Sir, The Chambertin with yellow
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Keywords: ., bookcentury1800, bookdecade1860, bookpu, booksubjectenglishpoetry
