At Billiards or at Bowls your Prowess try,
Or with the Sons of Kent at Cricket vye.
Then, fqueamish, scorn your Hunger to allay
With Flesh or Fowl, and difcontented stay
Till Indian Soy adds Flavour to the Fish,
Or Cayenne Pepper feafons every Dish.

But now Rump-fteaks your Stomach can appeafe,
Small Beer is Nectar, and Ambrofia, Cheese.
What though your Butler has mislaid the Key,
You want no Vitriol Drops nor Ratafia.
The beft Stomachics, Exercife and Air,
Can ftamp a Relifh on the coarfeft Fare:
The Swain, whofe conftant Appetite proceeds
From conftant Toil, nor Sauce nor Bitters needs;
Amidft his fun-burnt Babes he blithely fings,
And taftes each Day a Blifs unknown to Kings:
While Routs and Revels on the faded Brow
Of courtly Dames their baneful Influence fhow,
And the rich Noble, puny and polite,
Faints if a Sirl in fmokes within his Sight..

Whate'er I fay, the City and the Court
Will still prefer good Burgundy to Port,
And still, no Doubt, a striking Difference fee
Between a Calf's Head hafh'd and Callipee..
'What though we cannot eat the Shell, all Eyes,
When hung on high, will wonder at its Size,
Far more renown'd than those old-fashion'dHorns
With which each Squire his rural Hall adorns ;

• And

And fure, the Produce of Weft-Indian Seas,
So dear, fo far-fetch'd, every Taste must please ;
Befides, an Oven for this Feaft was made,
And the fame Ship a Negro-Cook convey'd.'

Say, how does Inftinct to your Taste proclaim That from fam'd Thanet's Ifle thefe Lobfters came? Or that thofe Flounders, in Fleet-market bought, Were off the Tower, at five this Morning, caught? You figh for Venifon in a Forest bred, And Mutton loath, though ev'n at Banfted fed; Red Mullets, Wheat-ears are most dainty Fare, And Pyes of Perigord are good and rare: Your Tafte no Fruits but Pine-apples can pleafe, No Greens, but Winter 'Sparagus and Pease: Why but because what our cold Soil denies, At vaft Expence a Hot-house Stove supplies? Ev'n Turkey-pouts, if hatch'd in Nature's spite, By fage Reaumur, your Palate would delight. 'Give me, fays Quin, proportion'd to my Paunch, And fat as Falstaff, an enormous Haunch! "How does the Sight, the Scent, tranfport my Soul, • When kept a Fortnight, and when cook'd byCale! Oh! may each Nerve, by fome propitious Blaft, Or Auguft's Heat, be tainted to his Tafte! While Fat remains, his Labours never cease, Happier than Hottentots with Guts and Greafe. At length he's fill'd; and now, methinks, forSmell, A Leg of Lamb quite fresh might ferve as well. And

And foon, too foon, Gout, Dropfy, Stone, or Age
Will cool this Heat, and damp this eating Rage.
Thus He, the mighty Leader of the Choir,
Who ftruck, with Jubal's Skill, the facred Lyre,
Like his own Sampfen, in Eclipfe was left,
At once of Appetite and Eyes bereft.

Of James's Deeds this furely was the chief,
That Knighthood's Honour he bestow'd on Beef;
And ever fince, as conftant as the Grace,
At Royal Banquets Beef maintains its Place.

Eliza's Courtiers din'd on boil'd and roaft, Her Maidens breakfasted on Sack and Toaft. Then no John-Dories were at London bought, Nor every Year fuch Shoals of Turtles caught. The Sea, 'tis true, an equal Number fed, But fafe they refted in their watry Bed; 'Till a rich Creole, longing to be Mayor, First taught the City this luxurious Fare. And now at Almack's fhould three Lords agree To have a Hedgehog drefs'd in Fricaffee, Cits would prefer it to their favourite Fish, And Hedgehog would be foon the reigning Difh. Wide is the Diff'rence between nine and nine, And a cold Mefs of Scraps with home brew'dWine. Then each Extreme with prudent Caution fhun, Nor cloy with too much Food, nor ftarve with none. A fordid Citizen, for Rapine fam'd,

In Town, in Country, was the Vulture nam'd:..

Poor

Poor in Appearance as a Highland Chief,
In Cellars oft he div'd for Shin of Beef.
Mackarel at home afforded a Repaft,
Which no Man with a Nofe would dare to taste.
At Whitfuntide, his Neighbours he would treat
With Mum and Elder, neither four nor sweet,
And drench'd his Sallad with fuch ftinking Oil,
As a Grown Gentleman's School-pumps would spoil.
The Wife will to Frugality attend,

Nor weakly hoard his Wealth, nor madly spend:
Though he, for once, forgives a greasy Cloth,
Or even in roafted Mutton Want of Froth,
He lets no filthy Groom at Dinner wait,
Nor will familiar with his Butler prate,
Nor, like proud Seymour, turn the Slave away,
Who dar'd to whisper, 'Tis a rainy Day.'

Now learn what Bleffings Temperance enjoys, And think how hearty were your Meals whenBoys! In Eton's happy Shades, how blithe and gay The Morning Study and the Evening Play! At early Noon how dainty was the Treat, Though Mutton, Mutton was the conftant Meat; Nor figh'd you then for Trifle, Trout, or Tart, Contented with one Dish, and no Defert. Now, fince in one promifcuous Mefs you join Sweet, fav'ry, four, hot, cold, Cream, Cyder, Wine, What Pains, whatQualms are in your Bowels bred! Hence your diftemper'd Frame, and aching Head.

Mark

Mark when the Guefts from public Dinners rife, How pale their Vifage, and how funk their Eyes! Who could fuppofe fuch Beings born to think, Or more than tottering Statues fill'd with Drink!

The Reaper in his straw-roof'd Shed all Night Serenely fleeps, and rifes with the Light; When hungry dines, and fwills his Keg when dry, His Cloth the Grafs, his Canopy the Sky. Yet twice a Year he takes a chearful Glafs, And featly foots it with fome favourite Lafs, When Twelfth-Day crowns its temporary Kings, Or when with Harveft-Home the Village rings. But fhould he, careless of his Sheaves, repair To every Horfe-race, Cricket-match, or Fair, And riot all the Week on Cakes and Ale, How could he fhun an Hofpital or Jail!

In Gothic Halls our Sires contented din'd On Ribs and Chines, fubftantial in their Kind ; At Christmas feafted every Farmer round, And all their Toils in ftout October drown'd: Age, Sicknefs, Want, went fmiling from their Nor needed Workhoufes nor Parish Rates. [Gates, Then'midft their Tenants Lords could pass the Year: Now, new-built Squares unpeople every Shire. Oh! that I then at firft had feen the Light, Ere Prudence was a Jeft, and Vice polite!

Haft thou no Sense of Shame, no virtuous Pride? Reflect how Chartres liv'd, how Villiers died!