 | The Canterbury Tales of Chaucer |  |
THE COOK.
By the same Hand.
With Them, a trav'ling Cook They jointly led,(For thriving Cits are delicately fed)
Well skill'd in all the Culinary Toil,
The Chick, just cackling in the Shell, to boil;
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To lay the Custard, and to raise the Tart;
To pouder Marchant, ev'ry Game to roast;
To melt the Marrow, and to brown the Toast;
To season and to lard; to grill and fry;
To pound the Mortrey, and to bake the Pie.
Great Harm it was, (for much it flack'd his Pace,)
A Mormal on his Shin had taken Place;
And sorely griev'd, the Blemish I descry'd;
But what his Legs refus'd, his Hands supply'd.
Of Palate, exquisite! Of Labor, free!
A Kitchen Doctor in the first Degree,
The Food to cater, or the Dish to fill;
Blanc-mange was held his Master-piece of Skill.
| The Canterbury Tales of Chaucer | |