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