Bad Poetry: A Supper of Stinking Ducks
The author offers this explanatory note:
At a Clubb of Younkers, after a Frost a couple of Wild-Ducks were bought. A thaw coming the day after, these having before been frozen hard, fell in, appear'd all black, and stunk most harmoniously-yet, that nothing good might be wasted, the Purchasers dress't'em, and eat the first pretty nimbly, not staying to tast it; but by that time, Colon being a little pacifi'd, advancing to the second, it drove 'em all off, and was given a decent burial at last in the Boghouse.
Here's one verse from "A Supper of Stinking Ducks:"
Some will say they've a whiff like a Worm-eaten Bitch,
Or a Tartar Ragoo, ready dresst in a Ditch:
Or a cleanly blue-Pig-but ne're keck honest fellow!
For they're wholesome enow, tho' a little too mellow.
They're black, but where Indians do paint the De'el White,
That colour be sure's a most heavenly sight:
They dropt from the Moon out of Breath, and the Thumps
Which they took on the Ground have discolour'd their Rumps.
Cozen John! 't had been better if y'had not been so sickle,
But in our Garden-Cellar had laid 'em in pickle:
Tho' the Cook says they're sweet, I'll venture engage her,
That the Ducks should ha' stunk with the T--'s for a Wager.
Pothecary's Bills have full often half broke us,
With chargeable Vomits of Carduus and Crocus:
When these Ducks from the Bum-gut to Keckhorn would draw,
And like a Turn'd-Pudding-bag empty the Maw;
O Spirits of Arm-pits, and Essence of Toes!
O Hogo of Ulcers, and Hospital Nose!