Once on a time, old Legends say,
'Twas on a sultry Summer's day,
A Grecian God forsook the Skies,
To taste of Earth's felicities.
Clad like a rusticated elf,
(Perhaps incog. 'twas Jove himself)
He travers'd hills, and glens, and woods,
And verdant lawns, by crystal floods;
For sure, said he, if Earth has joys,
They dwell remote from pomp and noise.
He loitering pass'd the vacant hour,
For Strawberries stoop'd, or pluck'd a Flower,
And snuff'd the Zephyrs as they play'd,
In wanton curves beneath the shade.
'Till having every sweet pursued,
That leisure finds in solitude,
Resolving now to seek Mankind,
And new delights in converse find,
He left the woods, he cross'd the plain,
And join'd the Reapers' jolly train;
With Men and Maids he talk'd and toil'd,
While jocund mirth the hours beguil'd;
For Maids the cheerful labour shar'd,
And blooming health their rich reward.
When noon advanc'd, Sol's downward rays
Shedding intolerable blaze,
Compel the Labourers' retreat,
To shelter from the fervent heat;
The copse that skirts the irriguous mead
Affords a welcome cooling shade.
A Damsel from the careful Dame
With wholesome viands loaded came;
Though coarse and homely was their meal,
Though brown their bread, and mild their ale,
Gladly they view'd the plenteous store,
Dispos'd on Nature's verdant floor.
The aerial Stranger soon made free,
Nor miss'd Apollo's minstrelsy;
For chirping Grasshoppers were heard,
With dulcet notes of many a Bird
That sought at noon the umbrageous glade
And softly sung beneath the shade.
He took his place upon the ground,
With Lads and Lasses circling round;
He sat as they sat, fed as they fed,
Drank ale, and laugh'd, and talk'd, as they did;
Each playful wile, by Love employ'd,
He by kind sympathy enjoy'd;
The Lover's extasies he caught,
When looks convey'd th' enamour'd thought;
From breast to breast while raptures bound,
He prais'd the varied prospects round,
Compar'd each Lass to Beauty's Queen,
And own'd it an Elysian scene,
The jolly God smil'd all propitious,
But ah! how fatally capricious....
It chanc'd, amidst this humble Feast,
A cup of YORKSHIRE DIP was plac'd ...
A pudding-sauce well-known of yore,
When folks were frugal, though not poor;
An olio mixt of sweet and sour.
Soon as this touch'd his laughing lip,
That unmixt Nectar us'd to sip,
He rose, and with a threat'ning frown
Of direful Anger, dash'd it down,
And swore, departing in a huff,
I'll make your lives like that d----d stuff.

Too sure the Malediction fell,
As every mortal wight can tell:
For HUMAN LIFE, to this bless'd hour,
Like Yorkshire Dip, is SWEET AND SOUR.

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