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 butter, 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 butter'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 shell.
Though Duck and Peas may fail, alas!
One's hunger to allay;
At least for luncheon they may pass,
The appetite 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 butter well;
And streaky bacon, which reveals
A most delicious smell
When Duck and Bacon in a mass
You in the stew-pan lay,
A spoon around the vessel pass,
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.