LICKFINGER

To wish them you, I confess, That ha'them already. The pox! Or I, till now? And it's but half and hour. Why? you think I can run Like lightfoot Ralph, Or keep a wheelbarrow, with a sail in town here, To whirl me to you: I have lost two stone Of suet i'the service posting hither, You might have followed me Like a watering pot, And seen the knots I made along the street; My face dropped Like the skimmer in a fritter pan, And my whole body, is yet (to say the truth) A roasted pound of butter, with grated bred in it! He sweeps his face. A shilling or two cheaper, That's your jealousy. And bating two i'the hundred. Sir, take heed What you give out. You can spare them nothing. As good as nothing. Beware those worshipful ears, Sir, be not shortened, And you play Crop i'the fleet, if you use this licence. I am Lickfinger, Your Cook. I know his gift, he can be deaf when he list. Yes Sir, I have spared them Out of the custard politic for you, the Majors. They are a little crooked. Because you do indent. Rather then meat, I know it: you are joust still. By the mouldy signs? When you & your dogs have dined. A sweet reversion. Nothing but a young Hair in white-broth, I know his diet better then the Doctor. I must needs, You see who drives me, gentlemen. News, news my boys! I am to furnish a great feast to day, And I would have what news the Office affords. Sir, for that I will not urge, but for the fire and zeal To the true cause; thus I have undertaken: With two Lay-brethren, to my self, no more, One o'the broach, th'other o'the boiler, In one six months, and by plain cookery, No magic to't, but old Jap ets physic, The father of the Europaean Arts, To make such sauces for the Savages, And cooks their meats, with those enticing steems, As it would make our Caniball-Christians, Forbear the mutual eating one another, Which they do do, more cunningly, then the wild Anthropophagi ; that snatch only strangers, Like my old Patrons dogs, there. When you please, Sir. I was bespeaking but a parcel of news, To strew out the long meal withal, but't seems You are furnished here already. What Court-news is there? any Proclamations, Or Edicts to come forth. And Coachmen. To mount their boxes, reverently, and driven, Like Lapwings, with a shell upon their heads. Thorough the streets. Ha'you no News oh the St ge? They'll ask me about new Plays, at dinner time. And I should be as dumb as a fish. He is dead, That played him! What news of Gundomar ? Justice! Justice! What must you have for these? Something of Bethlehem Gabor, And then I'm gone. Or never; well, God b'wi'you (stay, who's here?) A little of the Duke of Bauier, and then— It expected More then it understood: for, they stand mute, Poor innocent dumb things; they are but wood. As is the bench and blocks, they were wrought on, yet If Mayday come, and the Sun shine, perhaps, They'll sing Like Memnons Statue, and be vocal. I'll ha'that news. Heretic, I see Thou art for the vain Oracle of the Botle. The hogshead, Trismegistus, is thy Pegasus. Thence flows thy Muses spring, from that hard hoof: Seduced Poet, I do say to thee, A Boiler, Range, and Dresser were the Fountains, Of all the knowledge in the universe. And they are the Kitchens, where the Master-cook — (Thou dost not know the man, nor canst thou know him, Till thou hast served some years in that deep school, That's both the Nurse and Mother of the Arts, And hearest him read, interpret, and demonstrate!) A Master-cook! Why, he's the man of men, For a Professor ! he designs, he draws, He paints, he carves, he builds, he fortifies, Makes Citadels of curious fowl and fish, Some he dri-dishes, some motes round with broths. Mounts marrowbones, cuts fifty angled custards, Rears bulwark pies, and for his outerworkes He raiseth Ramparts of immortal crust ; And teaches all the Tactics, at one dinner: What Ranks, what Files, to put his dishes in; The whole Art Military. Then he knows, The influence of the Stars upon his meats, And all their seasons, tempers, qualities, And so to fit his relishes, and sauces, He has Nature in a pot, above all the Chemists, Or airy brothers of the Rosy-cross. He is and Architect, and Inginer, A Soldier, a Physician, a Philosopher, A general Mathematician. And that you may not doubt him, for a Poet — I am telling Mistress Band, and Mistress Statute, What a brave Gentleman you are, and Wax, here! How much 'twere better, that my Ladies Grace, Would here take up Sir, and keep house with you. Her doze of Sack. I have it for her, and her distance of Hum. Your Broker is laid out upon a bench, yonder, Sack hath seized on him, in the shape of sleep. Will you take a cup He strikes the Sack out of his hand. And try if you can sleep? Go, Sir, One of his Dogs. You will be tossed Like Block, in a blanket else. By the Porter, that came for it, from you, And by the token, you had given me the keys, And bade me bring it. Why did you send a countermand? You, or some other you, you put in trust. Your Trust's another self, you know, And without Trust, and your Trust, how should he Take notice of your keys, or of my charge. I know he was a Porter, And a sealed Porter for he boar the badge On breast, I am sure. Why! and I sent it by the man you sent Whom else, I had not trusted. A writing, Sir, Young Pe ny-boy dis covers it, to his Father to be his plot of sending for it by the Porter, and that he is in possession of the Deed. He sent for't by a token, I was bringing it: But that he sent a Porter, and he seemed A man of decent carriage. Elder Peny-boy startles at the news. Hear you the News ? But of your uncle ? He's run mad, Sir. Stark staring mad, your brother, H'has almost killed his maid. But that she's Cat-liu'd, and Squirrill-limb'd, With throwing bed-staues at her: h'has set wide His outer doors, and now keeps open house, For all the passers by to see his justice: First, he has apprehended his two dogs, As being o'the plot to cozen him: And there he sits Like and old worm of the peace, Wrapped up in furs at a square table, screwing, Examining, and committing the poor curs, To two old cases of close stools, as prisons; The one of which, he calls his Lollard's tower, Th'other his Block -house, because his two dogs names Are Block, and Lollard. Sure, I met them all, I think, upon that quest. Arm, arm you, Gentlemen Jeerers, th'old Canter Is coming in upon you, with his forces, The Gentleman, that was the Canter. See! the whole Couy is scattered, They all run away. Aware, aware the Hawks. I love to see him fly. YOu see by this amazement, and distraction, What your companions were, a poor, affrighted, And guilty raze of men, that dare to stand No breath of truth: but conscious to themselves Of their no-wit, or honesty, ran routed At every Panic terror themselves bred. Where else, as confident as sounding brass, Their tinkling Captain, Cymbal, and the rest, Dare put on any visor, to deride The wretched: or with buffo licence, jest At whatsoever is serious, if not sacred. Who did? I? I trench the liberty of the subjects? Ask your Echo )