The Cookery Blue Book
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The capon burns, the pig falls from the spit; The clock hath struck twelve upon the bell; My mistress made it one upon my cheek- She is so hot, because the meat is cold; Methinks your man, like mine, should be your clock, And strike you home without a messenger. My charge was but to fetch you from the mart Home to your house, the Phœnix, sir, to dinner- My mistress and her sister wait for...