At your defert bright pewter comes too late,
When your first course was all ferv'd up in plate.

Most knowing Sir! the greatest part of cooks
Searching for truth, are couzen'd by its looks.
One would have all things little, hence has try'd
Turkey-poults fresh'd, from th' egg in butter fry'd;
Others, to fhew the largenefs of their foul,
Prepare your muttons fwol'd, and oxen whole.
To vary the fame things, fome think is art,
By larding of hogs-feet, and bacon-tart;
The tafte is now to that perfection brought,
That care, when wanting skill, creates the fault.
In Covent-garden did a taylor dwell,
Who might deserve a place in his own hell:
Give him a single coat to make, he'd do't;
A veft, or breeches fingly; but the brute
Cou'd ne'er contrive all three to make a fuit:
Rather than frame a fupper like fuch clothes,
I'd have fine eyes and teeth without my nofe.

You that from pliant paste wou'd fabricks raise, Expecting thence to gain immortal praise; Your knuckles try, and let your finews know, Their pow'r to kneed, and give the form to dough:

Chufe your materials right, your feas'ning fix,
And with your fruit refplendent fugar mix:
From thence of course the figure will arise,
And elegance adorn the surface of your pies.
Beauty from order fprings, the judging eye
you if one fingle plate's awry:

Will tell

The cook muft ftill regard the present time,
T'omit what's just in season, is a crime.
Your infant pease to sparrow-grafs prefer,
Which to the fupper you may best defer.

Be cautious how you change old bills of fare,
Such alterations fhould at least be rare ;

Yet credit to the artist will accrue,

Who in known things ftill makes th' appearance new.
Fresh dainties are by Britain's traffick known,

And now by conftant use familiar grown;
What Lord of old wou'd bid his cook prepare,
Mangoes, potargo, champignons, cavare?
Or would our thrum-capp'd ancestors find fault
For want of fugar-tongs, or spoons for falt.
New things produce new words, and thus Montetb
Has by one veffel fav'd his name from death.
The feasons change us all, by autumn's frost
The fhady leaves of trees and fruit are lost.

But

But then the spring brings forth with fresh supplies,
And from the teeming earth new buds arise.

So ftubble geefe at Michaelmas are seen
Upon the fpit, next May produces green.
The fate of things lies always in the dark,
What Cavalier would know St. James's park?
For Locket's ftands where gardens once did spring,
And wild ducks quake where grass-hoppers did fing.
A princely palace on that space does rife,
Where Sidney's noble mufe found mulberries.
Since places alter thus, what conftant thought
Of filling various dishes can be taught?
For he pretends too much, or is a fool,
Who'd fix those things where fashion is the rule.

King Hardicnute midft Danes and Saxons ftout,
Carous'd in nut-brown ale, and din'd on grout:
Which difh its pristine honour still retains,
And when each prince is crown'd, in splendor reigns.
By northern cuftom, duty was exprest

To friends departed by their fun'ral feaft.
Tho' I've confulted Holing head and Stow,
I find it very difficult to know

Who to refresh th' attendants to a grave,
Burnt-claret firft, or Naples bifket gave.
A 4

Trotter

Trotter from quince and apples first did frame
A pye, which still retains his proper name,
Tho' common grown, yet with white fugar strow'd,
And butter'd right, its goodness is allow'd.

As wealth flow'd in, and plenty sprang from

peace, Good humour reign'd, and pleasures found encrease: 'Twas ufual then, the banquet to prolong,

By mufick's charm, and fome delightful fong;
Where ev'ry youth in pleafing accents ftrove,
To tell the ftratagems and cares of love.

How fome fuccessful were, how others croft ;
Then to the sparkling glafs wou'd give his toast:
.Whose bloom did most in his opinion fhine,

To relish both the mufick and the wine.
Why am I ftyl'd a cook, if I'm fo loth
To marinate my fifh, or feafon broth,
Or fend up what I roaft with pleasing froth ?
If I my mafter's gufto won't difcern,

But thro' my bafhful folly scorn to learn?

When among friends good-humour takes its birth, "Tis not a tedious feaft prolongs the mirth; But 'tis not reafon therefore you fhou'd spare, When as their future burgefs you prepare, For a fat Corporation and their Mayor..

All things fhou'd find their room in proper place,
And what adorns this treat, would that disgrace.
Sometimes the vulgar will of mirth partake,
And have exceffive doings at their wake :
Ev'n taylors at their yearly feafts look great,
And all their cucumbers are turn'd to meat.
A Prince who in a foreft rides aftray,
And weary to some cottage finds the way,
Talks of no pyramids of fowl or bisks of fish,
But hungry fups his cream ferv'd up in earthen dish:
Quenches his thirst with ale in nut-brown bowls,
And takes the hafty rafher from the coals;
Pleas'd as King Henry with the Miller free,
Who thought himself as good a man as he.

Unless some sweetness at the bottom lie,

Who cares for all the crinkling of the pye?
If you would have me merry with your cheer,
Be fo your felf, or fo at least appear.

The things we eat by various juice controul,
The narrowness or largeness of our foul.
Onions will make ev'n heirs or widows weep,
The tender lettuce brings no fofter fleep:
Eat beef or pye-cruft, if you'd ferious be 3.
Your fhell-fish raifes Venus from the fea :