"So in a feast no intermediate fault

"Will be allow'd, but if not best 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;

480

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.

485

Our Cambrian fathers, sparing 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, inftructing whilst he fung;
Taught them that honefty they ftill poffefs,

Their truth, their open heart, their modest dress, Duty to kindred, conftancy to friends,

And inward worth, which always recommends;

500

Contempt of wealth and pleasure, to appear
To all mankind with hofpitable cheer.
In afterages Arthur taught his Knights
At his Round Table to record their fights,
Cities eraz'd, encampments forc'd in field,
Monsters fubdu'd, and hideous tyrants quell'd,

Then Guy, the pride of Warwick! truly great,
To future heroes due example fet;

By his capacious cauldron made appear

From whence the spirits rise and strength of war.
The prefent age, to gallantry inclin'd,

Is pleas'd with vast improvements of the mind.
He that of honour, wit, and mirth, partakes,
May be a fit companion o'er beef-fteaks;
His name may be to future times enroll'd

505

510

515

In Eftcourt's book *, whose gridiron 's fram'd of gold. Scorn not thefe lines, defign'd to let you know Profits that from a wellplac'd table flow.

520

That is, be admitted a member of 'The Beef-Steak Club, Richard Eftcourt, who was a player and dramatick writer, is celebrated in The Spectator as poffeffed of a sprightly wit and an easy and natural politeness. His company was much coveted by the great, on account of his qualifications as a boon companion. When the famous Feef-Steak Club was firft inftituted he had the office of Providore affigned him; and as a mark of diftinction used to wear a fmall gridiron of gold hung about his neck with a green filk riband. He died in the year 1713.

Tis a fage queftion if the Art of Cooks Is lodg'd by Nature or attain'd by books? That man will never frame a noble treat Whose whole dependance lies in some receipt: Then by pure Nature ev'ry thing is spoil'd; 525 She knows no more than stew'd, bak'd, roast, and When Art and Nature join, th' effect will be [boil'd. Some nice ragout or charming fricaffee.

530

}

535

The lad that would his genius fo advance
That on the rope he might fecurely dance,
From tender years enures himself to pains,
To fummer's parching heat and winter's rains,
And from the fire of wine and love abftains.
No artist can his hautboy's stops command
Unless fome skilful master form his hand;
But gentry take their Cooks tho' never try'd;
It seems no more to them than up and ride.
Preferments granted thus fhew him a fool
That dreads a parent's check or rods at school.
Oxcheek when hot, and wardens bak'd, fome cry,
But it is with an intention men should buy:
Others abound with such a plenteous store,
That if you 'll let them treat they 'll ask no more;
And it is the vast ambition of their foul

To fee their Port admir'd and table full;
But then amidst that cringing fawning crowd
Who talk fo very much and laugh so loud,
Who with such grace his Honour's actions praise,
How well he fences, dances, fings, and plays!

541

545

Tell him his livery 's rich, his chariot's fine,
How choice his meat and delicate his wine!
Surrounded thus, how should the youth descry
The happiness of friendship from a lie?
Friends act with cautious temper when fincere,
But flatt'ring impudence is void of care:
So at an Irish funeral appears --

A train of drabs with mercenary tears,

550

555

560

565

Who wringing oft' their hands, with hideous moan, Know not his name for whom they seem to groan; While real Grief with fileht steps proceeds, And love unfeign'd with inward paffion bleeds. Hard fate of wealth! Were lords as butchers wife They from their meat would banish all the flies. The Perfian kings with wine and maffy bowl Search'd to the dark recesses of the foul, That fo laid open no one might pretend Unless a man of worth to be their friend; But now the guests their patrons undermine, And flander them for giving them their wine. Great men have dearly thus companions bought : Unless by these inftructions they'll be taught 571 They fpread the net and will themselves be caught. Were Horace, that great maiter, now alive, A feast with wit and judgment he 'd contrive; As thus. Suppofing that you would rehearse 575 A labour'd work, and ev'ry dish a verse,

He'd fay,

"Mend this, and t' other line, and this." If after trial it were still amifs,

He'd bid you give it a new turn of face,
Or fet some dish more curious in its place.
If you perfift, he would not strive to move
A paffion fo delightful as felflove.

We should submit our treats to criticks' view,
And ev'ry prudent Cook should read Boffu.
Judgment provides the meat in season fit,
Which by the genius dreft its fauce is wit.
Good beef for men, pudding for youth and age,
Come up to the decorum of the flage.
The critick ftrikes out all that is not just,
And it is ev'n fo the butler chips his crust.
Poets and pastry-Cooks will be the fame,
Since both of them their images must frame:
Chimeras from the poet's fancies flow,

580

585

590

The Cook contrives his fhapes in real dough.

When Truth commands there is no man can offend

That with a modeft love corrects his friend,

596

Tho' it is in toafting bread or butt'ring pease,

So the reproof, has temper, kindness, cafe.

But why fhould we reprove when faults are fmall? Because it is better to have none at all.

600

There is often weight in things that seem the least, And our most trifling follies raise the jeft.

'Tis by his cleanliness a Cook muft please;

A kitchen will admit of no difeafe.

The fowler and the huntsman both may run
Amidst that dirt which he must nicely fhun.

(

605