Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, ON A GENTELMAN'S COMPLAINING TO A LADY .. COULD NOT EAT MEAT, by ANONYMOUS


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Classic and Contemporary Poetry

ON A GENTELMAN'S COMPLAINING TO A LADY .. COULD NOT EAT MEAT, by                    
First Line: "you told me, sir, your teeth were loose"
Last Line: "then make the most of what is writ, / for here is quantum sufficit"
Subject(s): Dieting;food & Eating;teeth; Toothaches


owing to the Looseness of his Teeth

YOU told me, Sir, your teeth were loose,
And soon would be unfit for use;
And, if I rightly recollect,
My answer was to this effect:
That Nature meant they should be so,
As I imagined you must know:
'For what our stomachs cannot bear
Ought never to be placed there;
As, even in youth, physicians own
That meat unchewed is worse than none,
So meat unchewed will never do
With such old gentlemen as you.'
'What! not eat meat!', you made reply,
'Why, Madam, I should starve and die;
For what besides, I should be glad
To know, is daily to be had?
Or, if it could, what can men eat
So wholesome or so good as meat?'
'Of many things, good Sir,' I say,
'As you shall hear another day,
When I for you a list will make
Of proper food for you to take,
And better much for you to eat
Than game, or fowl, or other meat.'

So now, that I may keep my word,
I send you what to me's occurred.

First then, use milk, which you may boil,
And eat for dinner for a while;
Then, for a change, new milk quite cold,
With bread that's neither new nor old;
Sometimes a pudding, made of flour
And water, not boiled half an hour --
I see you look so very sad
That you some seasoning may add,
Or, if you please, some sugar take,
Though that may make your loose teeth ache.

When tired, as you may be, of these,
I give you leave to eat some peas,
With greens, and every wholesome root
The gardener's art can furnish out.
Plain soups, or boiled or stewed, I hold
Not much amiss for young or old;
But such as aldermen would choose
'Twere death for aged men to use.
Eggs for a meal may sometimes please,
But sparingly regale on these:
And, would you follow my advice,
Of nothing eat so much as rice;
For though by doctors, wondrous wise!
'Tis held unfriendly to the eyes,
Yet many doubt their wisdom's skill,
And you have naught to fear of ill,
For long you cannot hope to see --
(At least it so appears to me).
Then you eat rice, and never mind
Though one year sooner you go blind:
Your wife and little ones, no doubt,
Will gladly lead you all about;
Or, if they should, perchance, refuse,
You then a dog and string may use.

'If nothing more I am to have,
You soon will send me to my grave.'
Have patience, Sir, and give me leave
To take a little time to breathe.

Now then, I say that I could wish
That twice a week you'd eat of fish;
As fish is held nutritious food,
And so by Catholics allowed.
Yet one thing more -- and then you will
Of eatables have had your fill --
And that is, fruit of every sort
That with your pocket will comport,
From apples-John to apples-pine,
And the rich product of the vine,
With cherries red, and cherries black,
And strawberries, a numerous pack;
With nectarines, apricots and peaches,
And what besides within your reach is,
Excepting nuts, for nuts won't do
For such an aged man as you.
Thus you'll have food enough, I think,
So now let me prescribe you drink.
As I, good Sir, have little doubt
But you have bile, or cramp, or gout,
So I, who life in study pass,
Unused to circulate the glass,
No sort of wine can recommend
To anyone I call my friend;
Nor beer nor ale, for these, I'm sure,
No gentleman can now endure:
But rum or brandy, well diluted
With water that is soft reputed;
And, to repel the gout's attack,
Take now and then a little 'rack.
With proper regimen and these,
You may, I think, rub on with ease,
Till you have tired the friends about ye,
And they are glad at heart to rout ye;
Then, not to plague or them or you,
Oblige them with a Last Adieu.

My list for you thus at an end,
Excuse the freedom of a friend
In recommending what I love,
And what, by use, you'd soon approve:
But if you never mean to try,
Then you must be to blame, not I,
If pains approach, and death draws nigh.
For't nothing will avail the Muse
The powers of poetry to use,
If obstinate as old you prove,
And slight the dictates of her love;
Then make the most of what is writ,
For here is quantum sufficit.





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