438 The Animal-Lore of Shtihspeare’s Time. 
of the expedition, tells us that the wild dogs of Porto 
Bico live on crabs. He is careful to guard against any 
confusion between the crustacean and the apple:— 
“ I meane not fruits of trees, but an animal, a living and sensible 
creature, in feeding whereupon, even men finde a delight, not onely a 
contentednesse. These woods are full of these crabs, in quantitie 
bigger than ever I saw any sea-crabs in England, and in such multi¬ 
tudes that they have berries [burrows] like conies in English warrens. 
They are in shape not different from sea-crabs, for ought I could per¬ 
ceive. For I speabe not this out of report, but of my owne sensible 
experience, I have seene multitudes of them both here, and at Dominica ^ 
The whitest whereof (for some are ugly black) some of our men did 
catch, and eate with good liking, and without any harme, that ever I 
heard complaint of.” {Ptirchas, vol. iv. p. 1172.) 
In John Eussell’s Poke of Nurture, written about the 
year 1450, the following quaintly minute instructions are 
given how to dress and carve the crab when served at 
table :— 
“ Crabbe is a slutt to kerve and a wrawd [froward] wight; 
Breke every clawe a sondur, for that is his ryght: 
In the brode shelle putt youre stuff, but first have a sight 
That it be clene from skyn and senow [sinew] or ye begyn to dight.. 
And what [when] ye have piked the stuff owt of every shelle 
With the poynt of youre knyfe, loke ye temper it welle, 
Put vinegre thereto, verdjus, or ayselle, 
Cast thereon powdur, the better it wille smelle. 
Send the crabbe to the kychyn there for to hete, 
Agayn hit facche [fetch it] to thy soverayne sittynge at mete; 
Breke the clawes of the crabbe, the smalle and the grete, 
In a disch them ye lay if hit like your soverayne to ete.” 
{The Babees Booh, ed. F. J. Furnivall, 1868, p. 42.) 
This delicacy, so carefully prepared, must not be mis¬ 
taken for the favourite supper dish, referred to by 
Pitch :■— 
“ And sometime lurk I in a gossip’s bowl, 
In very likeness of a roasted crab, 
And when she drinks, against her lips I bob, 
And on her wither’d dewlap pour the ale.” 
(.Midsummer Nightfs Bream , ii. 1, 47.) 
