Intent some pottage to provide,

     Which heated well, with spice infused,

     Was to his shivering guest produced:

     So hot it was, as Esop sung,

     It made our traveller scald his tongue;

     And wishing not again to do it,

     Our hero could not wait, but blew it.

     "What?" said his host, in accent rough,

     "Is not your pottage hot enough?"

     "Yes," said the man, "full well I know it,

     'Tis far too hot, that's why I blow it."

     "You artful villain! do you so?"

     His host replied, with angry brow;

     "My cave shall not a moment hold

     A man that blows both hot and cold!

     By none but rogues can that be done,

     You double-dealing wretch, begone!"

     The traveller scarce deserved such wrath,

     For warming fingers—cooling broth.

     No statutes old or new forbid it,

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