Heaven sends us good meat, but the devil sends us cooks.

Heaven sends us good meat, but the devil sends us cooks.

Ever a glutton, at another's cost,
But in whose kitchen dwells perpetual frost.

Ever a glutton, at another's cost,
But in whose kitchen dwells perpetual frost.

Yet smelt roast meat, beheld a huge fire shine,
And cooks in motion with their clean arms bared.

Yet smelt roast meat, beheld a huge fire shine,
And cooks in motion with their clean arms bared.

Hallo! A great deal of steam! the pudding was out of the
copper. A smell like a washing-day! That read more

Hallo! A great deal of steam! the pudding was out of the
copper. A smell like a washing-day! That was the cloth. A
smell like an eating-house and a pastrycook's next door to each
other, with a laundress's next door to that. That was the
pudding.

Let's carve him as a dish fit for the gods,
Not hew him as a carcass fit for hounds.

Let's carve him as a dish fit for the gods,
Not hew him as a carcass fit for hounds.

Great pity were it if this beneficence of Providence should be
marr'd in the ordering, so as to justly read more

Great pity were it if this beneficence of Providence should be
marr'd in the ordering, so as to justly merit the Reflection of
the old proverb, that though God sends us meat, yet the D------
does cooks.

Oh, better no doubt is a dinner of herbs,
When season'd with love, which no rancour disturbs
read more

Oh, better no doubt is a dinner of herbs,
When season'd with love, which no rancour disturbs
And sweeten'd by all that is sweetest in life
Than turbot, bisque, ortolans, eaten in strife!
But if, out of humour, and hungry, alone
A man should sit down to dinner, each one
Of the dishes which the cook chooses to spoil
With a horrible mixture of garlic and oil,
The chances are ten against one, I must own,
He gets up as ill-tempered as when he sat down.

She would have made Hercules have turned spit, yea, and have
cleft his club to make the fire too.

She would have made Hercules have turned spit, yea, and have
cleft his club to make the fire too.

The capon burns, the pig falls from the spit,
The clock hath strucken twelve upon the bell;
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The capon burns, the pig falls from the spit,
The clock hath strucken twelve upon the bell;
My mistress made it one upon my cheek:
She is so hot because the meat is cold;
The meat is cold because you come not home;
You come not home because you have no stomach;
You have no stomach, having broke your fast;
But we, that know what 'tis to fast and pray,
Are penitent for your default to-day.