At Number One dwelt Captain Drew,
George Benson dwelt at Number Two,
(The street we'll not now mention:)
The latter stunn'd the King's Bench bar,
The former, being lamed in war,
Sang small upon a pension.

Tom Blewit knew them both: than he
None deeper in the mystery
Of culinary knowledge;
From turtle soup to Stilton cheese,
Apt student, taking his degrees
In Mrs. Rundell's college.

Benson to dine invited Tom:
Proud of an invitation from
A host who “spread so nicely,
Tom answer'd, ere the ink was dry,
“Extremely happy—come on Fri-
-Day next, at six precisely.”

Blewit, with expectation fraught,
Drove up at six, each savoury thought
Ideal turbot rich in;
But, ere he reach'd the winning-post,
He saw a haunch of ven'son roast
Down in the next-door kitchen.

“Hey! zounds! what's this? a haunch at Drew's!
I must drop in; I can't refuse;
To pass were downright treason:
To cut Ned Benson's not quite staunch;
But the provocative—a haunch!
Zounds! it's the first this season.

“Ven'son, thou'rt mine! I'll talk no more.”
Then, rapping thrice at Benson's door,
“John, I'm in such a hurry;
Do tell your master that my aunt
Is paralytic, quite aslant,
I must be off for Surrey.”

Now Tom at next door makes a din:
“Is Captain Drew at home?”—“Walk in.”
“Drew, how d'ye do?”—“What! Blewit!”
“Yes, I—you've ask'd me, many a day,
To drop in, in a quiet way,
So now I'm come to do it.”

“I'm very glad you have,” said Drew,
“I've nothing but an Irish stew”—
Quoth Tom, (aside,) “No matter;
'Twon't do—my stomach's up to that,—
'Twill lie by, till the lucid fat
Comes quiv'ring on the platter.”

“You see your dinner, Tom,” Drew cried.
“No, but I don't though,” Tom replied;
“I smok'd below.”—“What?”—“Ven'son—
A haunch.”—“Oh! true, it is not mine;
My neighbour has some friends to dine.”
“Your neighbour! who?”—“George Benson.

“His chimney smoked; the scene to change,
I let him have my kitchen range,
While his was newly polish'd;
The ven'son you observed below,
Went home just half an hour ago;
I guess it's now demolish'd.

“Tom, why that look of doubtful dread?
Come, help yourself to salt and bread,
Don't sit with hands and knees up:
But dine, for once, off Irish stew,
And read the ‘Dog and Shadow’ through,
When next you open Æsop.”