"Riddles always make me a bit peckish," he is probably thinking.

This week, I came across a collection of poetry riddles that Jonathan Swift and his pals used to mail back and forth to each other as a form of light entertainment in 1724. (Let’s pause for a moment and appreciate that there was an age in which mailing puzzles to one’s best friends was considered a raucous good time. I think I was born in the wrong era.) I was particularly amused by one called “On the Posteriors,” which is really worth looking up. But I also found this one, which is related to the culinary arts and therefore scores a place on this blog. Can you figure out who the “I” of this poem is?

Though I, alas! a prisoner be,
My trade is prisoners to set free.
No slave his lord’s commands obeys
With such insinuating ways.
My genius piercing, sharp, and bright,
Wherein the men of wit delight.
The clergy keep me for their ease,
And turn and wind me as they please. Continue reading →