A third Pudding Pastoral, not signed. Lycidas informs Corydon that the annual Lord Mayor's dinner will be graced by a ball, but the gluttonous swain is not impressed: "Damn the Ball! — my Lycidas, dear, | The dinner alone caus'd my grief; | But, blest, now the prospect is clear | Of gulping down pudding and beef." The complete title is give as "A Pudding Pastoral, occasioned by the Citizens recinding their Resolution of setting aside the Annual Dinner at Guildhall."
Author's note: "There is to be no Ball this year."
Dear Corydon blubber no more,
Wet cockets no more with your tears;
'Twill be at Guildhall as before,
Save a Ball as in former years.
This restraint the City Knight feels,
Tho' at W—ster he figur'd in vain;
The Ball not allow'd he'll give reels,
To the tune of "Good Port and Champaigne!"
Damn the Ball! — my Lycidas, dear,
The dinner alone caus'd my grief;
But, blest, now the prospect is clear
Of gulping down pudding and beef.
I'll greedily look for the hour
That will give the feast to my eyes,
When my jaws with speed shall devour
Turbets, chickens, hams, puddings, and pies.
Three pounds, not an ounce will I 'bate:
My Lycidas, why do you stare?
Would you have me with self play the cheat,
At a feast that happens so rare!
May each gut of Corydon's paunch,
To hold its great burthen, extend,
Till, unable to cram in more haunch,
To the feast mouldy cheese puts an end.