BUTTER

Vessels large And broad, by the sweet hand of neatness clean’d, Meanwhile, in decent order ranged appear, The milky treasure, strain’d thro’ filtering lawn, Intended to receive. At early day, Sweet slumber shaken from her opening lids, My lovely Patty to her dairy hies; There, from the surface of expanded bowls She skims the floating cream, and to her churn Commits the rich consistence; nor disdains, Though soft her hand, though delicate her frame, To urge the rural toil, fond to obtain The country housewife’s humble name and praise. Continued agitation separates soon The unctuous particles; with gentler strokes And artful, soon they coalesce; at length Cool water pouring from the limpid spring Into a smooth glazed vessel, deep and wide, She gathers the loose fragments to a heap, Which in the cleansing wave, well wrought and press’d, To one consistent golden mass, receives The sprinkled seasoning, and of pats or pounds The fair impression, the neat shape assumes. Dodsley.

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