Poem from the prelims of the book, "In Commendation of the Author"

COoks burn your Books, and vail your empty brains;
Put off your feigned Aprons: view the strains
Of this new piece, whose Author doth display
The bravest dish, and shew the nearest way
T' inform the lowest Cook how he may dress,
And make the meanest meat the highest mess:
To please the Fancie of the daintiest Dame,
And sute her palate that she praise the same.
Give him return of worth, (besides due wages)
And recommend his Book to future ages.
Let it be known Rabisha here hath hit,
The fairest passage that hath dared it.
But read his Book, and judge his pains,
His is the labour, yours the gains.
Of vacant herbs and roots he maketh Sallets,
And Pickle for your use, to please all Pallats.
To coller, sowce, and pickle flesh so rare,
None that is extant can with him compare.
To Marinate, to Sowce, and pickle fish, So rich, so high, as any heart could wish.
See how he baketh flesh and fish, for cold
Varieties of each both young and old.
Jellies and Leaches fit for Royal Courts,
And Creams for Ladies choice of divers sorts.
His Broths, Pottages, to the taste and sight,
Would Easu-like, make some to sell their right.
Preparatives great store he doth compound,
For boyl'd and bak'd, so rare and so profound.
Next boyled meats rehearseth in such order,
As doth become so skilful a Recorder.
For Puddings, like to his have not been seen,
Fit for the Royal Table of a Queen. To Carbonado, and to Hash and Stew,
He all correcteth, by his Art more new
To Fry and Frigasie, his way's most neat.
How he compounds a thousand sorts of meat!
His Sallets are prepar'd each in their season,
Dished in form, by Arts admired reason.
To roast and sauce your flesh of every kind,
Forc'd, Fearst, with pallets hogo to each mind.
Next how to stew, and boyl all sorts of fish,
With rich ingredients to every dish.
Learn here to bake, broyl, frigasie and roast,
Nay more, collered sish, fry'd, fearst, and forst.
Flesh bak't meats hot, so rich and excellent,
Whose savoury tast, would give to all content.
With Tarts so delicate, 's new invention,
Doth far surpass my apprehension.
Besides, he hath set forth two Bills of Fare,
For every season within the year.
A second Book he hath of Rare Receipts,
Affecting freedom, more then avarice baits.
In these his works the noble will delight,
For he can make and marr an appetite.
Therefore brave Book, into the world be gone,
Thou vindicates thy Author; fearing none
That ever was, or is, or ere shall be,
Able to find the parallel of thee.