University of Virginia Library


177

On Mr. Samuel Cooke's POEMS.

WRITTEN IN THE YEAR 1749.

Indeed, Master Cooke!
You have made such a book,
As the learned in pastry admire:
But other wits joke
To see such a smoke
Without any visible fire.
What a nice bill of fare,
Of whatever is rare,
And approv'd by the critics of taste!
Not a classical bit,
Ev'ry fancy to hit,
But here in due order is plac'd.

178

Yet, for all this parade,
You are but a dull blade,
And your lines are all scragged, and raw;
And tho' you've hack'd, and have hew'd,
And have squeez'd, and have stew'd,
Your forc'd-meat isn't all worth a straw.
Tho' your satire you spit,
'Tisn't season'd a bit,
And your puffs are as heavy as lead;
Call each dish what you will,
Boil, roast, hash, or grill,
Yet still it is all a calve's-head.
I don't mind your huffing,
For you've put such vile stuff in,
I protest I'm as sick as a dog;
Were you leaner, or fatter,
I'd not mince the matter,
You're not fit to dress Æsop a frog.

179

Then, good master Slice!
Shut up shop, if your wise,
And th'unwary no longer trepan;
Such advice indeed is hard,
And may stick in your gizzard,
But digest it as well as you can.