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Edgar Guest - The Epicure
Work rating: Low

I`ve sipped a rich man`s sparkling wine, 
His silverware I`ve handled. 
I`ve placed these battered legs of mine 
`Neath tables gayly candled. 
I dine on rare and costly fare 
Whene`er good fortune lets me, 
But there`s no meal that can compare 
With those the missus gets me. 

I`ve had your steaks three inches thick 
With all your Sam Ward trimming, 
I`ve had the breast of milk-fed chick 
In luscious gravy swimming. 
To dine in swell cafe or club 
But irritates and frets me; 
Give me the plain and wholesome grub  —
The grub the missus gets me. 

Two kiddies smiling at the board, 
The cook right at the table, 
The four of us, a hungry horde, 
To beat that none is able. 
A big meat pie, with flaky crust! 
`Tis then that joy besets me; 
Oh, I could eat until I "bust," 
Those meals the missus gets me.
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