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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. 
345  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 
350  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 
355  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, 
360  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. 
365  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. 
370  He was a model among landed gentry.
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