get off on’t.

But mark the Consequence: The King never enjoy’d himself after, nor was it long before he was poison’d by a Monk at Swineshead Abbey. Then too late he saw his Error; then he lamented the Loss of Sir John; and in his latest Moments wou’d cry out, Oh! that I had never parted from my dear Jack Pudding! Wou’d I had never left off Pudding and Dumpling! I then had never been thus basely Poison’d! never thus treacherously sent out of the World!——Thus did this good King lament: But, alas, to no Purpose, the Priest had given him his Bane, and Complaints were ineffectual.

Sir John, in the mean time, had retir’d into Norfolk, where his diffusive Knowledge extended it self for the Good of the County in general; and from that very Cause Norfolk has ever since been so famous for Dumplings. He lamented the King’s Death to his very last; and was so cautious of being poison’d by the Priests, that he never touch’d a Wafer to the Day of his Death; And had it not been that some of the less-designing part of the Clergy were his intimate Friends, and eat daily of his Dumplings, he had doubtless been Made-away with; but they stood in the Gap for him, for the sake of his Dumplings, knowing that when Sir John was gone, they should never have the like again.

But our facetious Knight was too free of his Talk to be long secure; for a Hole was pick’d in his Coat in the succeeding Reign, and poor Sir John had all his Goods and Chattels forfeited to the King’s Use. It was then time for him to bestir himself; and away to Court he goes, to recover his Lands, &c. not doubting but he had Friends there sufficient to carry his Cause.

But alas! how was he mistaken; not a Soul there knew him; the very Porters

used him rudely. In vain did he seek for Access to the King, to vindicate his Conduct. In vain did he claim Acquaintance with the Lords of the Court; and reap up old Civilities, to remind ’em of former Kindness; the Pudding was eat, the Obligation was over: Which made Sir John compose that excellent Proverb, Not a word of the Pudding. And finding all Means ineffectual, he left the Court in a great Pet; yet not without passing a severe Joke upon ’em, in his way, which was this; He sent a Pudding to the King’s Table, under the Name of a Court-Pudding, or Promise-Pudding. This Pudding he did not fail to set off with large Encomiums; assuring the King, That therein he wou’d find an Hieroglyphical Definition of Courtiers Promises and Friendship.

This caused some Speculation; and the King’s Physician debarr’d the King from tasting the Pudding, not knowing but that Sir John had poison’d it.

But how great a Fit of Laughter ensu’d, may be easily guess’d, when the Pudding was cut up, it prov’d only a large Bladder, just clos’d over with Paste: The Bladder was full of Wind, and nothing else, excepting these Verses written in a Roll of Paper,

and put in, as is suppos’d, before the Bladder was blown full:

This Adventure met with various Constructions from those at Table: Some Laugh’d; others Frown’d. But the King took the Joke by the right End, and Laugh’d outright.

The Verses, tho’ but scurvy ones in themselves, yet in those Days pass’d for tolerable: Nay, the King was mightily pleas’d with ’em, and play’d ’em off on his Courtiers as Occasion serv’d; he wou’d stop ’em short in the middle of a flattering Harangue, and cry, Not a Word of the Pudding. This wou’d daunt and mortify ’em to the last degree; they curs’d Sir John a thousand times over for the Proverb’s sake: but to

no Purpose; for the King gave him a private Hearing: In which he so well satisfy’d His Majesty of his Innocence and Integrity, that all his Lands were restor’d. The King wou’d have put him in his old Post; but he modestly declin’d it, but at the same time presented His Majesty with a Book of most excellent Receipts for all kinds of Puddings: Which Book His Majesty receiv’d with all imaginable Kindness, and kept it among his greatest Rarities.

But yet, as the best Instructions, tho’ never so strictly followed, may not be always as successfully executed, so not one of the King’s Cooks cou’d make a Pudding like Sir John; nay, tho’ he made a Pudding before their Eyes, yet they out of the very same Materials could not do the like. Which made his old Friends the Monks attribute it to Witchcraft, and it was currently reported the Devil was his Helper. But good King Harry was not to be fobb’d off so; the Pudding was good, it sate very well on his Stomach, and he eat very savourly, without the least Remorse of Conscience.

In short, Sir John grew in Favour in spite of their Teeth: The King lov’d a merry Joke; and Sir John had

always his Budget full of Punns, Connundrums and Carrawitchets; not to forgot the Quibbles and Fly-flaps he play’d against his Adversaries, at which the King has laugh’d ’till his Sides crackt.

Sir John, tho’ he was no very great Scholar, yet had a happy way of Expressing himself: He was a Man of the most Engaging Address, and never fail’d to draw Attention: Plenty and Good-Nature smil’d in his Face; his Muscles were never distorted with Anger or Contemplation, but an eternal Smile drew up the Corners of his Mouth; his very Eyes laugh’d; and as for his Chin it was three-double, a-down which hung a goodly Whey-colour’d Beard shining with the Drippings of his Luxury; for you must know he was a great Epicure, and had a very Sensible Mouth; he thought nothing too-good for himself, all his Care was for his Belly; and his Palate was so exquisite, that it was the perfect Standard of Tasting. So that to him we owe all that is elegant in Eating: For Pudding was not his only Talent, he was a great Virtuoso in all manner of Eatables; and tho’ he might come short of Lambert for Confectionary-Niceties, yet was he not inferiour to Brawnd, Lebec, Pede, or any other great Masters of Cookery; he could toss up a Fricassée as well as a Pancake:

And most of the Kickshaws now in vogue, are but his Inventions, with other Names; for what we call Fricassées, he call’d Pancakes; as, a Pancake of Chickens, a Pancake of Rabbets, &c. Nay, the French call a Pudding an English Fricassée, to this Day.

We value our selves mightily for Roasting a Hare with a Pudding in its Belly; when alas he has roasted an Ox with a Pudding in his Belly. There was no Man like him for Invention and Contrivance: And then for Execution, he spar’d no Labour and Pains to compass his magnanimous Designs.

O wou’d to Heav’n