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There was a Franlin with him, it appeared; White as a daisy-petal was his beard. |
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A sanguine° man, high-colored and benign, |
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He loved a morning sop of cake in wine. |
| 345 | He lived for pleasure and had always done, |
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For he was Epicurus’° very son, |
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In whose opinion sensual delight |
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Was the one true felicity in sight. |
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As noted as St. Julian° was for bounty |
| 350 | He made his household free to all the County. |
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His bread, his ale were finest of the fine |
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And no one had a better stock of wine. |
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His house was never short of bake-meat pies, |
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Of fish and flesh, and these in such supplies |
| 355 | It positively snowed with meat and drink |
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And all the dainties that a man could think. |
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According to the seasons of the year |
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Changes of dish were ordered to appear. |
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He kept fat partridges in coops, beyond, |
| 360 | Many a bream and pike were in his pond. |
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Woe to the cook unless the sauce was hot |
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And sharp, or if he wasn’t on the spot! |
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And in his hall a table stood arrayed |
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And ready all day long, with places laid. |
| 365 | As Justice at the Sessions° none stood higher; |
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He often had been Member for the Shire.° |
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A dagger and a little purse of silk |
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Hung at his girdle, white as morning milk. |
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As Sheriff he checked audit, every entry. |
| 370 | He was a model among landed gentry. |