The lines, in short, suggest themselves as a Scroogesque anti-echo of verse written at the century’s start: / My meat shall all come in, in Indian shells, / Dishes of agat set in gold, and studded / With emeralds, sapphires, hyacinths and rubies.

As quick as thought they empt' the well, And the last comers take a spell, At waiting, while the others go, With their full pitchers, dawdling so, You'd think they'd nothing else to do Butto keep looking round at you.

In this manner you may preserve Raspices and Mulberries.

2012, Sarah Fortnum, “Melbourne Cup 2012 From The Bookie’s Perspective”, in (Please provide the book title or journal name), retrieved 2013-12-18: