See here’s a Book set forth with such things in’t,

As former Ages never saw in Print;

Something I’de write in praise on’t, but the Pen,

Of Famous Cleaveland, or renowned Ben,

If unintomb’d might give this Book its due,

By their high strains, and keep it always new.

But I whose ruder Stile could never clime,

Or step beyond a home-bred Country Rhime,

Must not attempt it: only this I’le say,

Cato’s Res Rustica’s far short of May.

Bv

Here’s taught to keep all sorts of flesh in date,

All sorts of Fish, if you will marinate;

To candy, to preserve, to souce, to pickle,

To make rare Sauces, both to please, and tickle

The pretty Ladies palats with delight;

Both how to glut, and gain an Appetite.

The Fritter, Pancake, Mushroom; with all these,

The curious Caudle made of Ambergriese.

He is so universal, he’l not miss,

The Pudding, nor Bolonian Sausages.

Italian, Spaniard, French, he all out-goes,

Refines their Kickshaws, and their Olio’s,

The rarest use of Sweet-meats, Spicery,

And all things else belong to Cookery:

Not only this, but to give all content,

Here’s all the Forms of every Implement

To work or carve with, so he makes the able

To deck the Dresser, and adorn the Table.

What dish goes first of every kind of Meat,

And so ye’re welcom, pray fall too, and eat.

Reader, read on, for I have done; farewell,

The Book’s so good, it cannot chuse but sell.