# THE COOK'S PRAYER!!

OH! all ye Gods and Goddeffes, whose celestial appetites are not too refined to relish the good things of this world, listen to a votary at your altar.

Twelve years have I been Cook to Alderman Gobble, and never was a better mafter, the *kidney* of good-humour, a *rafher* of generofity, and a *tafle*, delicate as a *boiled chicken*, in fhort, he is a *Salmagundy* of all that is eftimable.

Continue me, I befeech you, a twelve-months longer in his ſervice, and then, with the little per- quifites I have *hafhed* together, I may be able to enter on the *eating-houſe* in *Pye* corner, which I have longed for theſe three years. Should that be the caſe, ſtir up, I pray you, the *flames* of love in the boſom of John the Coachman, make him *hiffing-hot* with affection, and *boiling over* with tenderneſs for the melting charms of my delectable perſon:—long have I *waſled* myſelf away to a mere *ſhadow*, in ſad and hopeleſs defpair, and at preſent he minds me no more than a *turkey* does a *rabbit* roaſting on the fame ſpit, or a *goofe* the *gridiron* on which it is broiled. Yet there is a time for all things; he may yet have compaſſion for my youth; nor let my beauty wither like a ſprig of *fweet marjorum* in a chimney corner. What an acquifition he would be to my ſhop! he would create an *appetite* to look at him through the window; not like the puny *raddiſh* ſtalks of the pre- fent age, but a hale able-bodied man, capable of ſtanding fire, and round as a copper-pot lid. Grant me but this, ye Gods, and raſe the price of kitchen-ſtuff, and Dolly Difhwell ſhall ever praſe ye.