What will not luxury taste? Earth, sea, and air,
Are daily ransack'd for the bill of fare.
read more

What will not luxury taste? Earth, sea, and air,
Are daily ransack'd for the bill of fare.
Blood stuffed in skins is British Christians' food,
And France robs marshes of the croaking brood.

That famish'd people must be slowly nurst,
And fed by spoonfuls, else they always burst.

That famish'd people must be slowly nurst,
And fed by spoonfuls, else they always burst.

The poor man will praise it so hath he good cause,
That all the year eats neither partridge not read more

The poor man will praise it so hath he good cause,
That all the year eats neither partridge not quail,
But sets up his rest and makes up his feast,
With a crust of brown bread and a pot of good ale.

Ratons and myse and soche smale dere
That was his mete that vii. yere.

Ratons and myse and soche smale dere
That was his mete that vii. yere.

See, how the liver is swollen larger than a fat goose! In
amazement you will exclaim: Where could this read more

See, how the liver is swollen larger than a fat goose! In
amazement you will exclaim: Where could this possibly grow?

Yet shall you have to rectify your palate,
An olive, capers, or some better salad
Ushering the read more

Yet shall you have to rectify your palate,
An olive, capers, or some better salad
Ushering the mutton; with a short-legged hen,
If we can get her, full of eggs, and then,
Limons, and wine for sauce: to these a coney
Is not to be despaired of for our money;
And though fowl now be scarce, yet there are clerks,
The sky not falling, think we may have larks.

Poor Tom, that eats the swimming frog, the toad, the todpole, the
wall-newt and the water; that in the read more

Poor Tom, that eats the swimming frog, the toad, the todpole, the
wall-newt and the water; that in the fury of his heart, when the
foul fiend rages, eats cow-dung for sallets, swallows the old rat
and the ditch-dog, drinks the green mantle of the standing pool;
who is whipped from tithing to tithing, and stock-punished and
imprisoned; who hath had three suits to his back, six shirts to
his body,
Horse to ride, and weapon to wear,
But mice and rats, and such small deer,
Have been Tom's food for seven long year.

'Tis not the food, but the content,
That makes the table's merriment.

'Tis not the food, but the content,
That makes the table's merriment.

He pares his apple that will cleanly feed.

He pares his apple that will cleanly feed.