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 how Tom Cook (Fryer and Singer born By name and nature) oh! how night and morn He for the nicest public taste doth dish up The good things from that _Pan_ of music, Bishop! 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-- Aye, 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 Haydon on perpetual Haydon,--or Hume on "Twice three make four," 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 Welch Rabbits--and thyself--in Warren Street! V. Oh, hast thou still those Conversazioni, Where learned visitors discoursed--and fed? There came Belzoni, Fresh from the ashes of Egyptian dead-- And gentle Poki--and that Royal Pair, Of whom thou didst declare-- "Thanks to the greatest _Cooke_ we ever read-- They were--what _Sandwiches_ should be--half _bred_"! There fam'd M'Adam from his manual toil Relax'd--and freely own'd he took thy hints On "making _Broth_ with _Flints_"-- There Parry came, and show'd thee polar oil For melted butter--Combe with his medullary Notions about the _Skullery_, And Mr. Poole, too partial to a broil-- There witty Rogers came, that punning elf! Who used to swear thy book Would really look A _Delphic_ "Oracle," if laid on _Delf_-- There, once a month, came Campbell and discuss'd His own--and thy own--"_Magazine_ of _Taste_"-- There Wilberforce the Just Came, in his old black suit, till once he trac'd Thy sly advice to _Poachers_ of Black Folks, That "do not break their _yolks_"-- Which huff'd him home, in grave disgust and haste! VI.