Hare with little jellies.
Plover trussed and stuffed.
Wheaten cakes.
A mess of furmity.
A heron stewed. You dolts, this should be heated!
Cook. My Lady, my Lady—the ovens will heat it again quickly. I brought it hither that your Ladyship should taste the sauce. [Presents a spoon. Bess tastes.]
Bess. I mislike the onion. And for a Queen, there is too much aniseed. Mark that if the dish goes untouched.
Cook. My Lady, they say this Queen will bring her own tasting-gentleman.
Bess. Surely, yes, surely. Who will she not bring? Her tasting-gentleman to see she is not poisoned by you, Master Cook. Swallow the insult and say your prayers and be sparing of your herbs in future. You were always too set upon aniseed, and ’tis fit only for the colic, to my thinking. Get on, get on with your dishes.... H’m! the pasties ... here is only one of liver. I told Crompe to command two ... two of liver and two of apples. [The pasties are presented.]
Bess. Fifty loaves.