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"But hang it to poets, who seldom can eat, Your very good mutton's a very good treat; Such dainties to them, their health it might hurt; It's like sending them ruffles, when wanting a shirt." We have an amusing anecdote of one of Goldsmith's blunders which took place on a subsequent visit to Lord Clare's, when that nobleman was residing in Bath.
The little journey broke up the day, he bought the evening papers, and it was pleasant to glance from the news to those who passed, and to look upon the sunny and hazy sea. He liked to go to Mutton's, and regretted Lizzie was not there, instead of behind a bar serving whisky and beer. But he went to the bar.
And there's the distress of thae Mucklebackits we canna get a fin o' fish and we hae nae time to send ower to Fairport for beef, and the mutton's but new killed and that silly fliskmahoy, Jenny Rintherout, has taen the exies, and done naething but laugh and greet, the skirl at the tail o' the guffaw, for twa days successfully and now we maun ask that strange man, that's as grand and as grave as the Yerl himsell, to stand at the sideboard! and I canna gang into the kitchen to direct onything, for he's hovering there, making some pousowdie* for my Lord, for he doesna eat like ither folk neither And how to sort the strange servant man at dinner time I am sure, Mr.
"I can't let you stay till they come; they'd be the death of me!" "Dear me," said the old gentleman, "I'm very sorry to hear that. How long may I stay?" "Only till the mutton's done, sir," replied Gluck, "and it's very brown."
"I can't let you stay till they come; they'd be the death of me." "Dear me," said the old gentleman. "I'm very sorry to hear that. How long may I stay?" "Only till the mutton's done, sir," replied Gluck, "and it's very brown."
"I can't let you stay till they come; they'd be the death of me." "Dear me," said the old gentleman, "I'm very sorry to hear that. How long may I stay?" "Only till the mutton's done, sir," replied Gluck, "and it's very brown."
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