What, you, too, my ******, in hashes so knowing,
Of sauces and soups Aristarchus profest!
Are you, too, my savory Brunswicker, going
To make an old fool of yourself with the rest?
Far better to stick to your kitchen receipts;
And--if you want something to tease--for variety,
Go study how Ude, in his "Cookery," treats
Live eels when he fits them for polisht society.
Just snuggling them in, 'twixt the bars of the fire,
He leaves them to wriggle and writhe on the coals,[1]
In a manner that Horner himself would admire,
And wish, 'stead of eels, they were Catholic souls.
Ude tells us the fish little suffering feels;
While Papists of late have more sensitive grown;
So take my advice, try your hand at live eels,
And for once let the other poor devils alone.
I have even a still better receipt for your cook--
How to make a goose die of confirmed hepatitis;[2]
And if you'll, for once, fellow-feelings o'erlook,
A well-tortured goose a most capital sight is.
First, catch him, alive--make a good steady fire--
Set your victim before it, both legs being tied,
(As if left to himself he might wish to retire,)
And place a large bowl of rich cream by his side.
There roasting by inches, dry, fevered, and faint,
Having drunk all the cream you so civilly laid, off,
He dies of as charming a liver complaint
As ever sleek person could wish a pie made of.
Besides, only think, my dear one of Sixteen,
What an emblem this bird, for the epicure's use meant.
Presents of the mode in which Ireland has been
Made a tid-bit for yours and your brethren's amusement:
Tied down to the stake, while her limbs, as they quiver,
A slow fire of tyranny wastes by degrees--
No wonder disease should have swelled up her liver,
No wonder you, Gourmands, should love her disease.