The POPLAR-Feast:
OR,
A CAT-PASTY.
Shewing how some Maids of Poplar , baked a Cat in a Pasty, and invited several young Seamen to the eating of it, with
their Merriment and pastime.
A Cat well baked in a pan,
Is a Dish for any man;
The Lasses of our town can tell,
That Seamen love a Cat so well,
T hat rather then they mean to beat her,
They will roast her well, and eat her.
To the Tune of, The Two English Travellers .
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A LL you that love Pasty come hither to me,
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Here is the best Pasty that ever you see;
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A dish for a Seaman it is without doubt,
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Excelling a Gudgeon , a Carp , or a Trout .
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For Rarities greater no Mortal can wish,
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Well Cooked and Baked, and put into a Dish;
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If a man never wants no worse Victuals then this,
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I am certain they never can then so amiss.
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But to come to my story, i'le tell you no lie,
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Although I am tedious good people don't cry;
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Have patience I pray you, you'l hearby and by,
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How neatly the Maidens new projects can try.
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In Poplar , of late, there was held a great Feast,
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The Maidens were jolly, to welcome there Guest;
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Good chear and good pastime, with great jollity,
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But Puss in her Majesty came by the Lee.
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These Maidens most carefully stript off the Skin,
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And pull'd out the Garbidge & intrails within;
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They cut off the head too, and thought it no sin,
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That Puss had been better she never had been.
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They baked this Rabit so well in a pan,
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It seemed a dish for a right Gentleman;
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But neighbors I pray you to tell me therefore,
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If you ever heard of a daintier Feast before.
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At night the brisk gallants came in for to sup,
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Amongst their good chear they their Pesty cut up;
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And fed very heartily on what they had,
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But when they did know it, I thought they were mad
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When they had well eaten and dranken to boot,
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The maids to their pastime went merrily too't;
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They askt how they like their dainty fine fare,
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They wisht it were better, for welcome they were.
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They answered with countenance brisk and compleat,
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It is the best Coney that ever we eat;
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Then here's to the founder and confounder both,
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So sip it up Simon , 'tis very good Broth
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Then much good may do you, the maidens did cry,
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I'le tell you the truth Sir, and tell you no lye;
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The meat is well season'd but yet for all that,
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Be assured 'tis nothing but our fat Cat.
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Then straight on the table they threw down the head,
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Whereby they concluded poor Pussy was dead;
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Alas my poor Cat that did use to cry Mew,
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Although she was dead she did force them to spew.
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But they pritty well did recover the matter,
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And turned their fury into a great laughter:
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Resolv'd to requite it, with some pritty trick,
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And make the young Maidens and lasses as sick.
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They laughed and quaffed add turn'd it about
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At length they did make the poor maiden to pout;
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The Maid she did frown too, and seemed so stout,
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They drank off the Liquor before they went out.
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Pray Neighbors bemoan the hard hap of my Cat ,
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Who ne'r will be able to catch any Rat;
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It cannot be holpen, let's home to our house,
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For crying won't help it, good-buy Mistriss Puss .
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