They be fundamental principle of all
As what ingenious cooks the relish call ;- :

For when the market fends in loads of food,
They all are tastless 'till that makes them good.
Befides, 'tis no ignoble piece of care,

To know for whom it is you wou'd prepare:
You'd please a friend, or reconcile a brother,
A testy father, or a haughty mother

Wou'd mollify a judge, wou'd cram a squire,
Or else fome finiles from court you may defire ;
Or wou'd perhaps fome hafty supper give,

To fhew the fplendid state in which you live,
Pursuant to that int'reft you propose,

Must all your wines and all your meat be chose.
Let men and manners ev'ry dish adapt,

Who'd force his pepper where his guests are clapt?
A caldron of fat beef, and ftoop of ale,
On the huzzaing mob fhall more prevail,
Than if you give them with the nicest art
Ragoufts of peacocks brains, or filbert tart.

The French by foups and haut-gousts 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,

་་་་

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 half-pence four.
Thus may your flock 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 fome tables, fome 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 profess,
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 fantaftick dish fome call Surprise.

When pleasures to the eye and palate meet,
That cook has render'd his great work complete :
His glory far, like Sir-loin's knighthood, flies,
Immortal made, as Kit-cat by his pyes.

Good-nature muft fome failings over-look,
Not wilfulness, but errors of the cook.

}

A ftring won't always give the found defign'd
By the musician's touch, and heavenly 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 fcatter'd on the fish;
Shall I in paffion from my dinner fly,
And hopes of pardon to my cook deny,
For things which careleffness might oversee,
And all mankind commit as well as he?
I with compaffion once may overlook
A skewer fent to table by my cook :
But think not therefore tamely I'll permit
That he fhall daily the fame fault commit,
For fear the rascal send me up the spit.

Poor Roger Fowler had a gen'rous mind,
Nor would fubmit to have his hand confin'd,
But aim'd at all, yet never cou'd excel

In any thing but ftuffing of his veal:

But when that dish was in perfection feen,
And that alone, wou'd it not move your spleen?

'Tis true, in a long work foft flumbers

And gently fink the artist into fleep.

creep,

}

Ev'n Lamb himself, at the most folemn feaft,
Might have fome chargers not exactly drefs'd.
Tables fhould be like pictures to the fight,
Some dishes caft in fhade, fome spread in light,
Some at a distance brighten, fome near hand,
Where ease may all their delicace command:
Some should be mov'd when broken, others laft
Thro' the whole treat, incentive to the tafte.
Locket by many labours feeble grown,
Up from the kitchen call'd his eldest fon:

Tho' wife thy felf (fays he) tho' taught by me, "Yet fix this fentence in thy memory:

"There are fome certain things that don'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 fon) the fate of cooks, "From whose myfterious art true pleasure springs "To fall of Garter and to throne of Kings. "A fimple scene, a disobliging song, "Which no way to the main defign belong, "Or were they abfent, never wou'd be mifs'd, "Have made a well-wrought comedy be hifs'd:

"So in a feaft no intermediate fault

"Will be allow'd, but if not beft, 'tis naught."

He that of feeble nerves and joints complains, From nine-pins, coits, and from trap-ball abftains: Cudgels avoids, and fhuns the wrestling place, Left Vinegar refounds his loud disgrace. But ev'ry one to cookery pretends,

Nor maid, nor miftrefs, 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 'tis 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 drudging-box 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 feas'ning, or they took
Such falt as iffu'd from the native rock:
Their fallading was never far to feek,
The poynant water-grafs, or fav'ry leek.

Until the British bards adorn'd this ifle,

And taught them how to roast, and how to boil:
Then Thalieffen rofe, and fweetly ftrung

His British harp, inftructing whilft he fung:

Taught