Answer to an Invitation to Dine at Fishmongers Hall

Much do I love, at civic treat,The monsters of the deep to eat;To see the rosy salmon lying,By smelts encircled, born for frying;And from the china boat to pour,On flaky cod, the flavour'd shower.Thee, above all, I much regard,Flatter than Longman's flattest bard,Much honour'd turbot! sore I grieveThee and thy dainty friends to leave.Far from ye all, in snuggest corner,I go to dine with little Horner:He who, with philosophic eye,Sat brooding o'er his Christmas pie:Then, firm resolv'd, with either thumb,Tore forth the crust-envelop'd plum,And, mad with youthful dreams of future fame,Proclaim'd the deathless glories of his name.