you're not fit to hold your station,
Not fit to fill—your situation:
The company just drink two glasses,
And you the rest amongst the lasses.
The same thing with respect to wine;
It's only just the whilst it's fine
It suits our masters: good, i'fegs!
So half the bottle goes for dregs;
Ha! ha! we're then, instead of napping,
Like the woodpecker,—always 'tapping.'
Of course, occasion'ly you tell o'er
The true contents of all the cellar.
Again of course, the choicest bottle
Scarce greets at all your Master's throttle.
The deuce a bit (if you've the tact)
You care, if he suspects the fact;
Then, to ensure his constant favour,
Treat him, sometimes, for good behaviour!
Wipe knives, rub tables, clean your plate,—
What can be more appropriate?
With table-cloths: 'tis bold, and dashing,
But saves in dusters and in washing.
In cleaning plate some talk of 'tricks,'
Leaving the whiting in the nicks;
The same with things in brass and copper:
But I contend it's right and proper;
Shows that you never kept aloof on't,
But did the thing—and left a proof on't!
I know no writer yet that handles
The saving article of candles;
But whilst convinc'd how much depends
On ev'ry mortal's private 'ends'
The subject, I'll not wholly doff it,
It yields us all such glaring profit.
Nor light them soon nor burn them low,
And part upon the Cook bestow;
No wretch alive would be that despot,
To go to rob the woman's grease-pot!
Though some may say you rob their pockets,
By what is wasted in the sockets:
A plague on all such meanness! scout it,
And never vex your sconce about it.
The noblest task in all your line,
Is bottling off a Pipe of Wine;
Not that you drink wine from the vat,
You know a 'trick worth two of that,'
But that it makes you (yet no stealer)
A reputable private dealer.
Choosing small bottles,—no large lumber,
Your Master gets his proper number;
Whilst, mod'rate in your views of pelf,
You get six dozen for yourself,—
Nay, were your Master quite a miser,
Pray 'who's to be a bit the wiser?'
Make from the cask your brethren cosey,
Of course not drunk, yet vastly dozy:
If fault be found you drain his wealth,
'Twas all with 'drinking Master's health.'
Put 'em to bed to sleep it off,
Say they've a cold—a shocking cough;
'Tis ten to one your Mistress orders
What you think good for all disorders,
At which, before, you've often laugh'd,—
A more and more composing draught!
Follow all guests towards the door,
If they have slept a night or more;
'Tis ten to one you've half-a-crown,—
Else 'show 'em up,' instead of down.
If they rebel and still resist,
Get all the servants to assist;
Whilst other plans you yet may try,
As I shall show you by and by.
Good Butlers always break their corkscrew,
So that it won't the lignum work through,
Or do the job for which intended,
Yet ne'er have time to get it mended:
The jovial service never balk,
Perform it with a silver fork!
Now for the Gent who often dines,
And eats your meat and drinks your wines,
Yet gives no vails,—torment him thence
'No end of ways' for the offence.
He calls, but you seem not to hear;
If asking wine, present him beer,
And, to prolong the pleasing strife,
A spoon when he desires a knife.
At last he'll do what fits his station,—
Or never more get invitation.
Whoe'er comes in, whoe'er goes out,
Your game is sure for ball or rout.
To fortune straight you'll make your way,
