’Tis guess’d that neither Christmas pottage ’twas,
Nor white-broth, nor cap’n-broth, good for sick maws,
Nor milk-porrage, or thick pease-porrage either,
Nor was it mutton-broth, nor veal-broth neither,
But sure some homely stuff crum’d with brown-bread,
And thus was Daniel, good Daniel fed.
Truly, this was but homely fare you’l say,
Would he have been so content?
Yet Daniel, good Daniel was content that day:
And though there could be thought on nothing cheaper,