He'd rather dress upon a Triumph-Day My Lord Mayor's Feast, and make them sauces too, Sauce for each several Mouth; nay further go, He'd rather build up those invincible Pies And Castle-Custards that affright all eyes,— Nay, eat them all and their artillery,— Than dress for such a curious company, One single dish. But I, gentle Readers, have set before you a table liberally spread. It is not expected or desired that every dish should suit the palate of all the guests, but every guest will find something that he likes. You, Madam, may prefer those boiled chicken, with stewed celery,—or a little of that fricandeau;—the Lady opposite will send her plate for some pigeon pye. The Doctor has an eye upon the venison—and so I see has the Captain.—Sir, I have not forgotten that this is one of your fast days—I am glad therefore that the turbot proves so good,—and that dish has been prepared for you. Sir John, there is garlic in the fricassee. The Hungarian wine has a bitterness which every body may not like; the Ladies will probably prefer Malmsey. The Captain sticks to his Port, and the Doctor to his Madeira.—Sir John I shall be happy to take Sauterne with you.—There is a splendid trifle for the young folks, which some of the elders also will not despise:—and I only wish my garden could have furnished a better dessert; but considering our climate, it is not amiss.—Is not this entertainment better than if I had set you all down to a round of beef and turnips? If any thing be set to a wrong taste 'Tis not the meat there, but the mouth's displaced; Remove but that sick palate all is well.[2] [Footnote 1: MIDDLETON and ROWLEY'S Spanish Gipsey.] [Footnote 2: BEN JONSON.] Like such a dinner I would have my book,—something for every body's taste and all good of its kind. It ought also to resemble the personage of whom it treats; and If ony whiggish whingin sot To blame the Doctor dare, man; May dool and sorrow be his lot For the Doctor was a rare man![3] [Footnote 3: BURNS.] Some whiggish sots I dare say will blame him, and whiggish sots they will be who do! “_En un mot; mes amis, je n'ai entrepris de vous contenter tous en general, ainsi uns et autres en particulier; et par special, moymême._”[4] [Footnote 4: PASQUIER.] CHAPTER XX. P. I. HOW TO MAKE GOLD. _L' Alchimista non travaglia a voto; Ei cerca l' oro, ei cerca l' oro, io dico Ch' ei cerca l' oro; e s' ei giungesse in porto Fora ben per se stesso e per altrui. L' oro e somma posanza infra mortali; Chiedine a Cavalier, chiedine a Dame, Chiedine a tutto il Mondo._ CHIABRERA.