I told him that rogues in the crowd did assail,
Used my person quite ill, and my watch bore away.
He looking quite grim, bade me good hours keep,
Pay a shilling—and go to my home with all speed.
The Cook Shop.
I knew by the smoke that so greasefully curl’d,
From a kitchen below that a cook-shop was near,
And I said if a gorge’s to be found in the world,
The man that is hungry might hope for it here.