Page 168
SECT. VII.
THen said th' officious Waiter, stooping low,
I am a Prince, Sir, in my Country, know;
But by a Roman Consul Pris'ner took,
In Gaule attending him, I learnt to Cook;
For him, Ragoos, Bisks, Oleos I drest,
And still my Seasoning pleas'd his Pallat best:
I with the best of those Que ditez vous,
Their Boxes could, and several Spices use,
Would with an Ounce of Beef, of Mutton less,
For Gallick Monsieurs make a gallant Mess:
But after that, condemn'd unto a Clog,
Hugging to Death my Ladys foysting-Dog;
And some suspecting that a Prank I play'd
For my Release, with Madams Chamber-Maid:
'Tis true, she squeak'd not, and I boarded straight,
And for a nine Months Voyage her did fraight;
Nay our great Mistris once but little miss'd,
When my sweet Breath commending, me she kiss'd,
Who growing kind, I had her in the Hug,
But then the Consul entring, startl'd Pug.
Question'd for driving such a subtle Trade,
Private Escape I to Marseiles made;
To Carthage in a Vessel got from thence,
Where I from Apeland had Intelligence