The Humorous Poetry of the English Language; from Chaucer to Saxe Part 75

BOILED CHICKEN.

AIR--"Norah Creina."

Lesbia hath a fowl to cook; But, being anxious not to spoil it, Searches anxiously our book, For how to roast, and how to boil it.

Sweet it is to dine upon-- Quite alone, when small its size is;-- And, when cleverly 'tis done, Its delicacy quite surprises. Oh! my tender pullet dear!

My boiled--not roasted--tender Chicken; I can wish No other dish, With thee supplied, my tender Chicken!

Lesbia, take some water cold, And having on the fire placed it, And some b.u.t.ter, and be bold-- When 'tis hot enough--taste it.

Oh! the Chicken meant for me Boil before the fire grows dimmer, Twenty minutes let it be In the saucepan left to simmer.

Oh, my tender Chicken dear!

My boil'd, delicious, tender Chicken!

Rub the breast (To give a zest) With lemon-juice, my tender Chicken.

Lesbia hath with sauce combined Broccoli white, without a tarnish; 'Tis hard to tell if 'tis design'd For vegetable or for garnish.

Pillow'd on a b.u.t.ter'd dish, My Chicken temptingly reposes, Making gourmands for it wish, Should the savor reach their noses.

Oh, my tender pullet dear!

My boiled--not roasted--tender Chicken Day or night, Thy meal is light, For supper, e'en, my tender Chicken.

STEWED DUCK AND PEAS.

AIR--"My Heart and Lute."

I give thee all, I can no more, Though poor the dinner be; Stew'd Duck and Peas are all the store That I can offer thee.

A Duck, whose tender breast reveals Its early youth full well; And better still, a Pea that peels From fresh transparent sh.e.l.l.

Though Duck and Peas may fail, alas!

One's hunger to allay; At least for luncheon they may pa.s.s, The appet.i.te to stay, If seasoned Duck an odor bring From which one would abstain, The Peas, like fragrant breath of Spring, Set all to rights again.

I give thee all my kitchen lore, Though poor the offering be; I'll tell thee how 'tis cook'd, before You come to dine with me: The Duck is truss'd from head to heels, Then stew'd with b.u.t.ter well; And streaky bacon, which reveals A most delicious smell

When Duck and Bacon in a ma.s.s You in the stew-pan lay, A spoon around the vessel pa.s.s, And gently stir away: A table-spoon of flour bring, A quart of water bring, Then in it twenty onions fling, And gently stir again.

A bunch of parsley, and a leaf Of ever-verdant bay, Two cloves--I make my language brief-- Then add your Peas you may!

And let it simmer till it sings In a delicious strain, Then take your Duck, nor let the strings For trussing it remain.

The parsley fail not to remove, Also the leaf of bay; Dish up your Duck--the sauce improve In the accustom'd way, With pepper, salt, and other things, I need not here explain: And, if the dish contentment brings, You'll dine with me again.

CURRY.

Three pounds of veal my darling girl prepares, And chops it nicely into little squares; Five onions next prepares the little minx (The biggest are the best her Samiwel thinks).

And Epping b.u.t.ter, nearly half a pound, And stews them in a pan until they're brown'd.

What's next my dexterous little girl will do?

She pops the meat into the savory stew, With curry powder, table-spoonfulls three, And milk a pint (the richest that may be);

And, when the dish has stewed for half-an-hour, A lemon's ready juice she'll o'er it pour: Then, bless her! then she gives the luscious pot A very gentle boil--and serves quite hot.

P.S. Beef, mutton, rabbit, if you wish; Lobsters, or prawns, or any kind of fish Are fit to make A CURRY. 'Tis, when done, A dish for emperors to feed upon.

THE RAILWAY GILPIN.

PUNCH.

JOHN GILPIN is a citizen; For lineage of renown, The famed JOHN GILPIN'S grandson, he Abides in London town.

To our JOHN GILPIN said his dear, "Stewed up here as we've been Since Whitsuntide, 'tis time that we Should have a change of scene.

"To-morrew is a leisure day, And we'll by rail repair Unto the Nell at Dedmanton, And take a breath of air.

"My sister takes our eldest child; The youngest of our three Will go in arms, and so the ride Won't so expensive be."

JOHN soon replied, "I don't admire That railway, I, for one; But you know best, my dearest dear And so it must be done.

"I, as a linen-draper bold, Will bear myself, and though 'Tis Friday by the calendar, Will risk my limbs, and go."

Quoth MISTRESS GILPIN, "Nicely said: And then, besides, look here, We'll go by the Excursion Train, Which makes it still less dear."

JOHN GILPIN poked his clever wife, And slightly smiled to find That though on peril she was bent, She had a careful mind.

The morning came; a cab was sought: The proper time allow'd To reach the station door; but lo!

Before it stood a crowd.

For half an hour they there were stay'd, And when they did get in-- "No train! a hoax!" cried clerks, agog To swear through thick and thin.

"Yea!" went the throats; stamp went the heels Were never folks so mad, The disappointment dire beneath; All cried "it was too bad!"

JOHN GILPIN home would fain have hied, But he must needs remain, Commanded by his willful bride, And take the usual train.

'T was long before our pa.s.sengers Another train could find, When--stop! one ticket for the fares Was lost or left behind!

"Good lack!" quoth JOHN, "yet try it on."

"'T won't do," the Guard replies; And bearing wife and babes on board, The train without him flies.

Now see him in a second train, Behind the iron steed, Borne on, slap dash-for life or bones With small concern or heed.

Away went GILPIN, neck or naught, Exclaiming, "Dash my wig!

Oh, here's a game! oh, here's a go!

A running such a rig!"

A signal, hark!--the whistle screamed-- Smas.h.!.+ went the windows all: "An accident!" cried out each one, As loud as he could bawl.

Away went GILPIN, never mind-- His brain seemed spinning round; Thought he, "This speed a killing pace Will prove, I'll bet a pound !"

And still, as stations they drew near, The whistle shrilly blew, And in a trice, past signal-men, The train like lightning flew.

Thus, all through merry Killbury, Without a stop shot they; But paused, to 'scape a second smash, At Dedmanton so gay.

At Dedmanton his loving wife, On platform waiting, spied Her tender husband, striving much To let himself outside.

"Hallo! JOHN GILPIN, here we are-- Come out!" they all did cry; "To death with waiting we are tired!"