UPON a dish my lord the number told;
Clod no way liked the garlick to behold.
With piteous mien the garlick head he took,
Then on it num'rous ways was led to look,
And grumbling much, began to spit and eat,
just like a cat with mustard on her meat,
To touch it with his tongue he durst not do;
He knew not how to act or what pursue.
The peer, delighted at the man's distress,
The garlick made him bite, and chew, and press,
Then gulp it down as if delicious fare;
The first he passed; the second made him swear;
The third he found was every whit as sad,
He wished the devil had it, 'twas so bad.
In short, when at the twelfth our wight arrived,
He thought his mouth and throat of skin deprived.
Said he, some drink I earnestly intreat;
What, Greg'ry, cried my lord, dost feel a heat;
In thy repasts dost love to wet thy jaws?
Well! well! I won't object; thou know'st my laws;
Much good may't do thee; here, some wine, some wine!
Yet recollect, to drink, since you design,
That afterward, my friend, you'll have to choose
The thirty blows, or thirty pounds to lose.
But, cried the peasant, I sincerely pray,
Your lordship's goodness, that the garlick may
Be taken in the account, for as to pelf,
Where can an humble lab'rer, like myself,
Expect the sum of thirty pounds to seize?
Then, said the peer, be cudgelled if you please;