Oh, to behold thy features in thy book! Thy proper head and shoulders in a plate, How it would look! With one rais'd eye watching the dial's date, And one upon the roast, gently cast down-- Thy chops--done nicely brown-- The garnish'd brow--with "a few leaves of bay"-- The hair--"done Wiggy's way!" And still one studious finger near thy brains, As if thou wert just come From editing some New soup--or hashing Dibdin's cold remains! Or, Orpheus-like--fresh from thy dying strains Of music--Epping luxuries of sound, As Milton says, "in many a bout Of linked sweetness long drawn out," Whilst all thy tame stuff'd leopards listen'd round! III. Oh, rather thy whole proper length reveal, Standing like Fortune,--on the jack--thy wheel. (Thou art, like Fortune, full of chops and changes, Thou hast a fillet too before thine eye!) Scanning our kitchen, and our vocal ranges, As tho' it were the same to sing or fry-- Nay, so it is--hear how Miss Paton's throat Makes "fritters" of a note! And is not reading near akin to feeding, Or why should Oxford sausages be fit Receptacles for wit? Or why should Cambridge put its little, smart, Minc'd brains into a tart? Nay, then, thou wert but wise to frame receipts, Book-treats, Equally to instruct the cook and cram her-- Receipts to be devour'd, as well as read, The culinary art in gingerbread-- The Kitchen's _Eaten_ Grammar! IV. Oh, very pleasant is thy motley page-- Ay, very pleasant in its chatty vein-- So--in a kitchen--would have talk'd Montaigne, That merry Gascon--humorist, and sage! Let slender minds with single themes engage, Like Mr. Bowles with his eternal Pope,-- Or Lovelass upon Wills,--thou goest on Plaiting ten topics, like Tate Wilkinson! Thy brain is like a rich kaleidoscope, Stuff'd with a brilliant medley of odd bits, And ever shifting on from change to change, Saucepans--old songs--pills--spectacles--and spits! Thy range is wider than a Rumford range! Thy grasp a miracle!--till I recall Th' indubitable cause of thy variety-- Thou art, of course, th' epitome of all That spying--frying--singing--mix'd Society Of Scientific Friends, who used to meet Welsh Rabbits--and thyself--in Warren Street! V.