We wish to speak plainly
And use no deceit;
We like to see fragments
Left wholesome and neat:
To customs and fashions
We make no pretense;
Yet think we can tell
What belongs to good sense.
What we deem good order,
We're willing to state--
Eat hearty and decent,
And clear out our plate--
Be thankful to Heaven
For what we receive,
And not make a mixture
Or compound to leave.
We find of those bounties
Which Heaven does give,
That some live to eat,
And that some eat to live--
That some think of nothing
But pleasing the taste,
And care very little
How much they do waste.
Tho' Heaven has bless'd us
With plenty of food:
Bread, butter, and honey,
And all that is good;
We loathe to see mixtures
Where gentle folks dine,
Which scarcely look fit
For the poultry or swine.
We often find left,
On the same china dish,
Meat, apple-sauce, pickle,
Brown bread and minc'd fish;
Another's replenish'd
With butter and cheese;
With pie, cake, and toast,
Perhaps, added to these.
Now if any virtue
In this can be shown,
By peasant, by lawyer,
Or king on the throne,
We freely will forfeit
Whatever we've said,
And call it a virtue
To waste meat and bread.
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