The Verses, tho' but scurvy ones in themselves, yet in those Days pass'd for tolerable: Nay, the King was mightily pleas'd with 'em, and play'd 'em off on his Courtiers as Occasion serv'd; he wou'd stop 'em short in the middle of a flattering Harangue, and cry, _Not a Word of the Pudding_. This wou'd daunt and mortify 'em to the last degree; they curs'd Sir _John_ a thousand times over for the Proverb's sake: but to no Purpose; for the King gave him a private Hearing: In which he so well satisfy'd His Majesty of his Innocence and Integrity, that all his Lands were restor'd. The King wou'd have put him in his old Post; but he modestly declin'd it, but at the same time presented His Majesty with a Book of most excellent Receipts for all kinds of Puddings: Which Book His Majesty receiv'd with all imaginable Kindness, and kept it among his greatest Rarities. But yet, as the best Instructions, tho' never so strictly followed, may not be always as successfully executed, so not one of the King's Cooks cou'd make a Pudding like Sir _John_; nay, tho' he made a Pudding before their Eyes, yet they out of the very same Materials could not do the like. Which made his old Friends the Monks attribute it to Witchcraft, and it was currently reported the Devil was his Helper. But good King _Harry_ was not to be fobb'd off so; the Pudding was good, it sate very well on his Stomach, and he eat very savourly, without the least Remorse of Conscience. In short, Sir _John_ grew in Favour in spite of their Teeth: The King lov'd a merry Joke; and Sir _John_ had always his Budget full of Punns, Connundrums and Carrawitchets; not to forgot the Quibbles and Fly-flaps he play'd against his Adversaries, at which the King has laugh'd 'till his Sides crackt.