 | Twelve wongs written at Boulogne-Sur-Mer |  |
EPILOGUE OF The Proof of the Pudding,
BEING A LECTURE ON PUDDINGS.
On all of your minds be this moral imprest:
Say not that your pudding is one of the best,
Until you have tasted—for that is the test.
Say not that your pudding is one of the best,
Until you have tasted—for that is the test.
I'll give—if none here will my efforts disparage,
A lecture on Puddings—and first I'll name Marriage.
Few know how to make it! few deem it expedient
To wait till they've found out each proper ingredient;
And so when for dinner the table is spread,
They have mixed up a mere Hasty pudding instead.
Such puddings, before they are many days old,
Will be rather too hot, or else rather too cold!
But Marriage judiciously made, will be found
Full of sweets, and delectable all the year round!
A Friend is a pudding that many cooks make
So quickly—at last it turns out—a mistake!
At first it may seem like the very thing wish'd,
Yet a coolness comes over'it when it is dish'd.
'Twill keep pretty well while the weather is summery,
But in winter such friendship will turn into Flummery.
But Friendship home made—(and it never is sold)
Is a pudding that never, oh! never grows cold.
The next is the Gambler's pudding! He takes
Some meat to compose it—most probably stakes.
He tosses it up, and still higher and higher,
'Till it falls from the frying pan into the fire.
And so much of the pudding is lost, that at last
He has very few scraps for tomorrow's repast!
The sharper's a sponge cake—and by the same rule,
The Flat that he fleeces, a Gooseberry Fool!
The Soldier's rough bowl must be fill'd to the brim,
Batter pudding in trenches (not trenchers), for him!
The Painter will mix up a pudding that's light;
He thinks of his pallet from morning till night!
The Poet has seldom got pudding enough!
He dines on a trifle, and sups on a puff!
The Ladies are Queen-cakes, each quite a sweet heart,
The Gentlemen—can't be like any thing Tart.
The Heiress's pudding will always seem nice,
And many young men will apply for a slice;
Though ugly and crusty, there still will be some
Who will swear 'tis divine, for the sake of the Plum.
A lecture on Puddings—and first I'll name Marriage.
Few know how to make it! few deem it expedient
To wait till they've found out each proper ingredient;
And so when for dinner the table is spread,
They have mixed up a mere Hasty pudding instead.
Such puddings, before they are many days old,
Will be rather too hot, or else rather too cold!
But Marriage judiciously made, will be found
Full of sweets, and delectable all the year round!
A Friend is a pudding that many cooks make
So quickly—at last it turns out—a mistake!
At first it may seem like the very thing wish'd,
Yet a coolness comes over'it when it is dish'd.
'Twill keep pretty well while the weather is summery,
But in winter such friendship will turn into Flummery.
But Friendship home made—(and it never is sold)
Is a pudding that never, oh! never grows cold.
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Some meat to compose it—most probably stakes.
He tosses it up, and still higher and higher,
'Till it falls from the frying pan into the fire.
And so much of the pudding is lost, that at last
He has very few scraps for tomorrow's repast!
The sharper's a sponge cake—and by the same rule,
The Flat that he fleeces, a Gooseberry Fool!
The Soldier's rough bowl must be fill'd to the brim,
Batter pudding in trenches (not trenchers), for him!
The Painter will mix up a pudding that's light;
He thinks of his pallet from morning till night!
The Poet has seldom got pudding enough!
He dines on a trifle, and sups on a puff!
The Ladies are Queen-cakes, each quite a sweet heart,
The Gentlemen—can't be like any thing Tart.
The Heiress's pudding will always seem nice,
And many young men will apply for a slice;
Though ugly and crusty, there still will be some
Who will swear 'tis divine, for the sake of the Plum.
The critic—But hold! that word fills me with fear;
I trust we shall find no one critical here!
No, no—I am certain that nobody looks
Unkindly on us—for we're Amateur Cooks.
Though glaring our faults, yet from censure refrain,
If you cut us too roughly—you can't come again!
I trust we shall find no one critical here!
No, no—I am certain that nobody looks
Unkindly on us—for we're Amateur Cooks.
Though glaring our faults, yet from censure refrain,
If you cut us too roughly—you can't come again!
The dish that we gave you to night, was combined
Of English and French, for that reason be kind;
Encourage all cooks whose exertions advance
Kind feelings and friendship 'twixt England and France.
Of English and French, for that reason be kind;
Encourage all cooks whose exertions advance
Kind feelings and friendship 'twixt England and France.
| Twelve wongs written at Boulogne-Sur-Mer | |