I never strove to rule the roast,
She ne'er refus'd to pledge my toast.

I never strove to rule the roast,
She ne'er refus'd to pledge my toast.

Her that ruled the rost in the kitchen.

Her that ruled the rost in the kitchen.

The capon burns, the pig falls from the spit,
The clock hath strucken twelve upon the bell;
read more

The capon burns, the pig falls from the spit,
The clock hath strucken twelve upon the bell;
My mistress made it one upon my cheek:
She is so hot because the meat is cold;
The meat is cold because you come not home;
You come not home because you have no stomach;
You have no stomach, having broke your fast;
But we, that know what 'tis to fast and pray,
Are penitent for your default to-day.

Of herbs, and other country messes,
Which the neat-handed Phillis dresses.

Of herbs, and other country messes,
Which the neat-handed Phillis dresses.

Hallo! A great deal of steam! the pudding was out of the
copper. A smell like a washing-day! That read more

Hallo! A great deal of steam! the pudding was out of the
copper. A smell like a washing-day! That was the cloth. A
smell like an eating-house and a pastrycook's next door to each
other, with a laundress's next door to that. That was the
pudding.

Great pity were it if this beneficence of Providence should be
marr'd in the ordering, so as to justly read more

Great pity were it if this beneficence of Providence should be
marr'd in the ordering, so as to justly merit the Reflection of
the old proverb, that though God sends us meat, yet the D------
does cooks.

Cookery is become an art, a noble science; cooks are gentlemen.

Cookery is become an art, a noble science; cooks are gentlemen.

She would have made Hercules have turned spit, yea, and have
cleft his club to make the fire too.

She would have made Hercules have turned spit, yea, and have
cleft his club to make the fire too.

Oh, better no doubt is a dinner of herbs,
When season'd with love, which no rancour disturbs
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Oh, better no doubt is a dinner of herbs,
When season'd with love, which no rancour disturbs
And sweeten'd by all that is sweetest in life
Than turbot, bisque, ortolans, eaten in strife!
But if, out of humour, and hungry, alone
A man should sit down to dinner, each one
Of the dishes which the cook chooses to spoil
With a horrible mixture of garlic and oil,
The chances are ten against one, I must own,
He gets up as ill-tempered as when he sat down.