Would boil their liquor well whene'er they brew: Their conquest half is to the victualler due.
Because that thrift and abstinence are good, 365 As many things if rightly understood,
Old Crofs condemns all perfons to be fops
That cann't regale themselves with muttonchops:
He often for stuft beef to Bedlam runs,
And the clean Rummer as the Pesthouse shuns: 370.
Sometimes poor jack and onions are his dish,
And then he faints those friars who ftink of fish.
As for myself, I take him to abstain
Who has good meat with decency, tho' plain :
But tho' my edge be not too nicely fet,
Yet I another's appetite may whet;
May teach him when to buy, when season 's paft, What's ftale, what's choice,what's plentiful, what's
And lead him thro' the various maze of taste.
The fundamental principle of all
Is what ingenious Cooks The Relish call;
For when the market fends in loads of food
They all are tafteless till that makes them good.
Befides, it is no ignoble piece of care
To know for whom it is you would prepare.
You'd please a friend, or reconcile a brother,
A tefty father, or a haughty mother?
Would mollify a judge, would cram a fquire,
Or else some smiles from Court you nay defire?
Or would perhaps fome hafty fupper give,
To fhew the splendid state in which you live?
Pursuant to that int'reft you propose
Muft all your wine and all your meat be chofe :
Let men and manners ev'ry difh adapt;
Who'd force his pepper where his guests are clapt?
A cauldron of fat beef and stoop of ale
On the huzzaing mob fhall more prevail
Than if you give them with the nicest art
Ragouts of peacocks' brains or filbert tart.
The French by foups and hautgouts glory raise, And their defires all terminate in praise.
'The thrifty maxim of the wary Dutch
Is to fave all the money they can touch.
"Hans," cries the father, "fee a pin lies there;
"A pin a-day will fetch a groat a-year.
"To your five farthings join three farthings more,
"And they if added make your halfpence four !"
Thus may your stock by management increase;
Your wars fhall gain you more than Britain's peace.
Where love of wealth and rufty coin prevail
What hopes of fugar'd cakes or butter'd ale?
Cooks garnish out some tables, some they fill,
Or in a prudent mixture fhew their skill.
Clog not your conftant meals, for dishes few
Increase the appetite when choice and new.
Ev'n they who will extravagance profefs
Have ftill an inward hatred for excess.
Meat forc'd too much untouch'd at table lies;
Few care for carving trifles in disguise,
Or that fantastick difh fome call Surprise.
When pleasures to the eye and palate meet
That Cook has render'd his great work complete;
His glory far, like Sirloins knighthood, flies,
Immortal made as Kitcat by his pies.
Good nature muft fome failings overlook, 425 Not wilfulness but errours of the Cook.
A ftring won't always give the found defign'd
By the musician's touch and heav'nly mind;
Nor will an arrow from the Parthian bow
Still to the deftin'd point directly go.
Perhaps no falt is thrown about the dish,
Or no fry'd parsley scatter'd on the fish:
Shall I in paffion from my dinner fly,
And hopes of pardon to my Cook deny,
For things which carelessness might oversee,
And all mankind commit as well as he?
I with compaffion once may overlook
A fkewer fent to table by my Cook;
But think not therefore tamely I'll permit
That he should daily the fame fault commit, 440 For fear the rafcal fend me up the fpit!
Poor Roger Fowler had a gen'rous mind,
Nor would fubmit to have his hand confin'd, .
But aim'd at all, yet never could excel
In any thing but stuffing of his veal:
But when that dish was in perfection feen,
And that alone, would it not move your spleen?
'Tis true in a long work foft flumbers creep,
And gently fink the artist into fleep.
Ev'n Lamb himself at the most folemn feaft
Might have some chargers not exactly drest.
Tables fhould be like pictures to the fight,
Some dishes caft in fhade, fome spread in light;
Some at a dislance brighten, some near hand,
Where ease may all their delicace command:
Some fhould be mov'd when broken; others last
Thro' the whole treat, incentive to the taste.
Locket, by many labours feeble grown,
Up from the kitchen call'd his eldest son.
"Tho' wife thyfelf," fays he, " tho' taught by me,
"Yet fix this fentence in thy memory;
461 "There are fome certain things that do n't excel, "And yet we fay are tolerably well: "There's many worthy men a lawyer prize "Whom they distinguish as of middle fize "For pleading well at bar or turning books;
"But this is not, my Son! the fate of Cooks, "From whose myfterious art true pleasure springs "To ftall of garter and to throne of kings. "A fimple fcene, a difobliging fong, "Which no way to the main design belong, "Or were they abfent never would be miss'd, Have made a well-wrought comedy be hiss'd :
God die 103
ART OF COOKERY.
"So in a feaft no intermediate fault
"Will be allow'd, but if not beft it is naught." 475
He that of feeble nerves and joints complains
From ninepins, coits, and from trapball, abstains,
Cudgels avoids, and shuns the wrestling place,
Left Vinegar refound his loud disgrace:
But ev'ry one to Cookery pretends;
Nor maid nor mistress e'er confult their friends.
But, Sir, if you would roast a pig, be free;
Why not with Brawn, with Locket, or with me?
We'll fee when 't is enough when both eyes out,
Or if it wants the nice concluding bout;
But if it lies too long the crackling 's pall'd,
Not by the drudgingbox to be recall'd.
Our Cambrian fathers, fparing in their food,
First broil'd their hunted goats on bars of wood:
Sharp hunger was their feaf'ning, or they took 490
Such falt as iffu'd from the native rock:
Their fallading was never far to feek,
The poignant watergrafs or fav'ry leek,
Until the British bards adorn'd this ifle,
And taught them how to roast and how to boil; 495
Then Talieffin rofe, and sweetly ftrung
His British harp, instructing whilst he sung;
Taught them that honefty they still poffefs,
Their truth, their open heart, their modeft dress,
Duty to kindred, conftancy to friends,
And inward worth, which always recommends;
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