syllabub

I shall yet think it a diminution to our happiness, to miss of half our companions and compotators of syllabub, not to have Mr. Newsham and his dogs, and his preceptors, and his dearly-beloved cousin, and his mathematics, and his Greek, and his horses.

Mother by hys sonne he hathe sende me a letter / Promysynge hereafter to be to vs better / And you and I with my greate clubbe / Muste walke to him and eate a solybubbe / and we shall make merye / and synge tyrle on the berye […]

I like Paul's plain style best. Better to feed the appetite of the hungry, than to tickle the fancies of the whimsical. This breed of preachers are apt soon to preach themselves out of breath, and come to nothing. May you and I never be the retailers of such whipt-syllabub divinity—better keep a cook's-shop to satisfy the craving appetite, than a confectioner's-shop to regale the depraved appetite of the dainty. Good brown-bread preaching is the best after all.