Page:Oxford Book of English Verse 1250-1918.djvu/895

 WILLIAM MAKEPEACE THACKERAY

We enter nothing's changed or older.

'How's Monsieur Terre, waiter, pray?* The waiter stares and shrugs his shoulder

'Monbieur is dead this many a day/ 'It is the lot of saint and sinner,

So honest Terre's run his race!* 'What will Monsieur require for dinner?'

'Say, do you still cook Bouillabaisse?'

'Oh, oui, Monsieur,' 's the waiter's answer;

'Quel vin Monsieur desire-t-il ? ' 'Tell me a good one.' 'That I can, Sir:

The Chambcrtm with yellow seal.' 'So Terre's gone,' I say, and sink in

My old accubtom'd corner-place; 'He's done with feasting and with drinking,

With Burgundy and Bouillabaisse.'

My old accustom'd corner here is,

The table still is in the nook; Ah' vanish'd many a busy year is,

This well-known chair since last I took. When first I saw ye, cart luoghi y

I'd scarce a beard upon my face, And now a grizzled, grim old fogy,

I sit and wait for Bouillabaisse.

Where are you, old companions trusty, Of early days, here met to dine?

Come, waiter 1 quick, a flagon crusty I'll pledge them in the good old wine.

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