TASTING

Tasting mine sir. I am my Ladies Cook, and King of the Kitchen: where I rule the roast; command imperiously, and am a very tyrant in my office. My Sub jects being all Soldiers are worser ily encountered by most fierce stomachs, and never returned but maimed and dis membered. Brawn, Beef, and Pork are always mu steered in the van, and bring up Veil, Mutton, Minced pie, Goose, Turkey, Duck, and so forth. I have a sort of cowardly Custards, born in the City, but bred up at Court, that quake for fear: yet are as valiant in suff ring as the rest, and are all overcome even by the woe men with much noise. I then send forth a fresh supply of Rabbits, Pheasant, Kid, Partridge, Quail, Lark, Plo for, Tele, Tarts, &c. With a French troop of Pulpa toons, Mackaroones, Kickshaws, grand and excellent. The battle ended, I survey the field; and those whom I find untouched, I place in garrison in my larder: the rest endure a new and fierce assault by the valiant Serving men. I then repairs my broken army; see their over throw at supper; drink my self drunk; go to bed, and my that days fury's over. I'll be your servant sir in spite of your teeth. Queen stionlesse a Cook can answer a Physician. I thank you sir. My method is to dress Phe sant, Partridge and Coney for Lords, but their Ladies many times make the sauce. The waiting women are fed with Wagtails. I prepare tongues for Lawyers: most commonly Woodcocks for Aldermen's Heirs, and Puddings for costive Citizens; whose wives must have flesh of a Court-dressing, or their bellies will never be full. Your projectors feed upon Calves-brains, and your students upon innocent Mutton. And Choler shall not want his Brawn while Cookery and Winter feasts last. I must in and look to my roast, of which at dinner you shall most plentifully taste. Exit. Now my icen iate murderer, what say you to a dish of gluttony will bred the gout in a Lord before a beggar can break his fast with it? Are not we cooks good instruments? who together with and Hospital of sin cause diseases faster then you can cure them? The other health my boys. Indeed health agrees not with your profession. Good brother Choler he pacified. Nay brother Choler, thou art so cross. Very fine Law now: Melancholy hath been some neglected Courtier: he's perfect in she-flattery. If he mistake me for the idol of his passion, I'll abuse him. and spare not. Bite not the cherry stones and eat, I care not. As for my gums you 'l find Sweeter here. I have no rotten teeth behind. I know it. It's my left. Take beed that I foe to not you. My cinque pass cleanly! A cook defies it. Some Soldier perhaps that want's his Pay. It's some Chambermaid sick of a Midwifes timpany. It's a Lovers that: or some misers that drank small beer in the Dogdays at his own charges. Perhaps it's a Fencers, or some Shopkeepers, whose wife sells underhand by retail. Is it thereabouts? I'll play the state knave, and inform presently. Exit. Please you, I'll carry the Calf into my Slaugh terhouse. But I fear he'll hardly be dressed for your Lady ships too h: he hath bled too much to be sweet flesh. Sick Sir farewell. By that time you are dead Will have made you a cawdle. Exit. I sure have dreamt; all passed was but illusion. Hold out you bloodless Organs until I Have railed upon this strumpet, then I'll die. How my distraction swells my tongue with curses? That I could shoot the poison of a asiliske From my inflamed eyes or infect the air With my last breath to kill her. No: Fear's and ill orator; he'll be out. I have been the most notorious thief, that ever robbed by privilege of his office. I have converted more butter into kitchen-stuff, then would have victualed a flemish garrison. I have cheated butchers; gone on their scores, and paid them with horns: helping to undo my Lady with the greatness of mine own credit. I have coney-catcht ma nigh a poulterers wife, and she hath plucked my feathers: what I God by the back I spent on the belly. But now short commons serve, licking my fingers and the half-cold dripping pan. Since my Ladies decay I am degra dead from a cook, and I fear the devil himself will en tertaine me but for one of his black guard; and he shall be sure to have his roast burned. Excellent amorist. He e's to thee Melancholy.