Bright wanderer through the eternal way,Has sight so sad as that which nowBedims the splendour of thy ray,E'er bid the streams of sorrow flow?Here, side by side, in death are laidTwo darling boys, their mother's care;And here their sister, youthful maid,Near her who nursed and thought them fair. —J. A. St. John.
Bright wanderer through the eternal way,Has sight so sad as that which nowBedims the splendour of thy ray,E'er bid the streams of sorrow flow?Here, side by side, in death are laidTwo darling boys, their mother's care;And here their sister, youthful maid,Near her who nursed and thought them fair. —J. A. St. John.
Bright wanderer through the eternal way,Has sight so sad as that which nowBedims the splendour of thy ray,E'er bid the streams of sorrow flow?Here, side by side, in death are laidTwo darling boys, their mother's care;And here their sister, youthful maid,Near her who nursed and thought them fair. —J. A. St. John.
Bright wanderer through the eternal way,Has sight so sad as that which nowBedims the splendour of thy ray,E'er bid the streams of sorrow flow?Here, side by side, in death are laidTwo darling boys, their mother's care;And here their sister, youthful maid,Near her who nursed and thought them fair. —J. A. St. John.
Bright wanderer through the eternal way,
Has sight so sad as that which now
Bedims the splendour of thy ray,
E'er bid the streams of sorrow flow?
Here, side by side, in death are laid
Two darling boys, their mother's care;
And here their sister, youthful maid,
Near her who nursed and thought them fair. —J. A. St. John.
Menander.(Book ii. § 86, p. 119.)
A bore it is to take pot-luck, with welcome frank and hearty,All at the board round which is placed a downright family-party.Old daddy seizes first the cup, and so begins his story,And lectures on, with saws and jokes—a Mentor in his glory.The mother next, and grandam too, confound you with their babble;And worse and worse, the grandam's sire will mump, and grunt, andgabble;His daughter with her toothless gums, lisps out, "The dear oldfellow!"And round and round the dotard nods, as fast as he grows mellow.—Anon.
A bore it is to take pot-luck, with welcome frank and hearty,All at the board round which is placed a downright family-party.Old daddy seizes first the cup, and so begins his story,And lectures on, with saws and jokes—a Mentor in his glory.The mother next, and grandam too, confound you with their babble;And worse and worse, the grandam's sire will mump, and grunt, andgabble;His daughter with her toothless gums, lisps out, "The dear oldfellow!"And round and round the dotard nods, as fast as he grows mellow.—Anon.
A bore it is to take pot-luck, with welcome frank and hearty,All at the board round which is placed a downright family-party.Old daddy seizes first the cup, and so begins his story,And lectures on, with saws and jokes—a Mentor in his glory.The mother next, and grandam too, confound you with their babble;And worse and worse, the grandam's sire will mump, and grunt, andgabble;His daughter with her toothless gums, lisps out, "The dear oldfellow!"And round and round the dotard nods, as fast as he grows mellow.—Anon.
A bore it is to take pot-luck, with welcome frank and hearty,All at the board round which is placed a downright family-party.Old daddy seizes first the cup, and so begins his story,And lectures on, with saws and jokes—a Mentor in his glory.The mother next, and grandam too, confound you with their babble;And worse and worse, the grandam's sire will mump, and grunt, andgabble;His daughter with her toothless gums, lisps out, "The dear oldfellow!"And round and round the dotard nods, as fast as he grows mellow.—Anon.
A bore it is to take pot-luck, with welcome frank and hearty,
All at the board round which is placed a downright family-party.
Old daddy seizes first the cup, and so begins his story,
And lectures on, with saws and jokes—a Mentor in his glory.
The mother next, and grandam too, confound you with their babble;
And worse and worse, the grandam's sire will mump, and grunt, and
gabble;
His daughter with her toothless gums, lisps out, "The dear old
fellow!"
And round and round the dotard nods, as fast as he grows mellow.—Anon.
The same.
From family repasts,Where all the guests claim kin,—nephews and uncles,And aunts and cousins to the fifth remove!First you've the sire, a goblet in his hand,And he deals out his dole of admonition;—Then comes my lady-mother, a mere homilyReproof and exhortation!—at her heelsThe aunt slips in a word of pious precept.The grandsire last—a bass voice among trebles,Thunder succeeding whispers, fires away.Each pause between, his aged partner fillsWith "lack-a-day!" "good sooth!" and "dearest dear!"The dotard's head meantime for ever nods,Encouraging her drivelling.—Anon.
From family repasts,Where all the guests claim kin,—nephews and uncles,And aunts and cousins to the fifth remove!First you've the sire, a goblet in his hand,And he deals out his dole of admonition;—Then comes my lady-mother, a mere homilyReproof and exhortation!—at her heelsThe aunt slips in a word of pious precept.The grandsire last—a bass voice among trebles,Thunder succeeding whispers, fires away.Each pause between, his aged partner fillsWith "lack-a-day!" "good sooth!" and "dearest dear!"The dotard's head meantime for ever nods,Encouraging her drivelling.—Anon.
From family repasts,Where all the guests claim kin,—nephews and uncles,And aunts and cousins to the fifth remove!First you've the sire, a goblet in his hand,And he deals out his dole of admonition;—Then comes my lady-mother, a mere homilyReproof and exhortation!—at her heelsThe aunt slips in a word of pious precept.The grandsire last—a bass voice among trebles,Thunder succeeding whispers, fires away.Each pause between, his aged partner fillsWith "lack-a-day!" "good sooth!" and "dearest dear!"The dotard's head meantime for ever nods,Encouraging her drivelling.—Anon.
From family repasts,Where all the guests claim kin,—nephews and uncles,And aunts and cousins to the fifth remove!First you've the sire, a goblet in his hand,And he deals out his dole of admonition;—Then comes my lady-mother, a mere homilyReproof and exhortation!—at her heelsThe aunt slips in a word of pious precept.The grandsire last—a bass voice among trebles,Thunder succeeding whispers, fires away.Each pause between, his aged partner fillsWith "lack-a-day!" "good sooth!" and "dearest dear!"The dotard's head meantime for ever nods,Encouraging her drivelling.—Anon.
From family repasts,
Where all the guests claim kin,—nephews and uncles,
And aunts and cousins to the fifth remove!
First you've the sire, a goblet in his hand,
And he deals out his dole of admonition;—
Then comes my lady-mother, a mere homily
Reproof and exhortation!—at her heels
The aunt slips in a word of pious precept.
The grandsire last—a bass voice among trebles,
Thunder succeeding whispers, fires away.
Each pause between, his aged partner fills
With "lack-a-day!" "good sooth!" and "dearest dear!"
The dotard's head meantime for ever nods,
Encouraging her drivelling.—Anon.
Aristophanes.(Book iii. § 7, p. 126.)
There is no kind of fig, Whether little or big,Save the Spartan, which here does not grow;But this, though quite small,Swells with hatred and gall,A stern foe to the Demos, I trow.—J. A. St. John.
There is no kind of fig, Whether little or big,Save the Spartan, which here does not grow;But this, though quite small,Swells with hatred and gall,A stern foe to the Demos, I trow.—J. A. St. John.
There is no kind of fig, Whether little or big,Save the Spartan, which here does not grow;But this, though quite small,Swells with hatred and gall,A stern foe to the Demos, I trow.—J. A. St. John.
There is no kind of fig, Whether little or big,Save the Spartan, which here does not grow;But this, though quite small,Swells with hatred and gall,A stern foe to the Demos, I trow.—J. A. St. John.
There is no kind of fig, Whether little or big,
Save the Spartan, which here does not grow;
But this, though quite small,
Swells with hatred and gall,
A stern foe to the Demos, I trow.—J. A. St. John.
Stesichorus.(Book iii. § 21, p. 136.)
Many a yellow quince was therePiled upon the regal chair,Many a verdant myrtle-bough,Many a rose-crown featly wreathed,With twisted violets that growWhere the breath of spring has breathed. —J. A. St. John.
Many a yellow quince was therePiled upon the regal chair,Many a verdant myrtle-bough,Many a rose-crown featly wreathed,With twisted violets that growWhere the breath of spring has breathed. —J. A. St. John.
Many a yellow quince was therePiled upon the regal chair,Many a verdant myrtle-bough,Many a rose-crown featly wreathed,With twisted violets that growWhere the breath of spring has breathed. —J. A. St. John.
Many a yellow quince was therePiled upon the regal chair,Many a verdant myrtle-bough,Many a rose-crown featly wreathed,With twisted violets that growWhere the breath of spring has breathed. —J. A. St. John.
Many a yellow quince was there
Piled upon the regal chair,
Many a verdant myrtle-bough,
Many a rose-crown featly wreathed,
With twisted violets that grow
Where the breath of spring has breathed. —J. A. St. John.
Antigonus.(Book iii. § 22, p. 137.)
O where is the maiden, sweeter farThan the ruddy fruits of Ephyrè are,When the winds of summer have o'er them blown,And their cheeks with autumn's gold have been strown! —J. A. St. John.
O where is the maiden, sweeter farThan the ruddy fruits of Ephyrè are,When the winds of summer have o'er them blown,And their cheeks with autumn's gold have been strown! —J. A. St. John.
O where is the maiden, sweeter farThan the ruddy fruits of Ephyrè are,When the winds of summer have o'er them blown,And their cheeks with autumn's gold have been strown! —J. A. St. John.
O where is the maiden, sweeter farThan the ruddy fruits of Ephyrè are,When the winds of summer have o'er them blown,And their cheeks with autumn's gold have been strown! —J. A. St. John.
O where is the maiden, sweeter far
Than the ruddy fruits of Ephyrè are,
When the winds of summer have o'er them blown,
And their cheeks with autumn's gold have been strown! —J. A. St. John.
Antiphanes.(Book iii. § 27, p. 140.)
A.'Twould be absurd to speak of what's to eat,As if you thought of such things; but, fair maid,Take of these apples.B.Oh, how beautiful!A.They are, indeed, since hither they but latelyHave come from the great king.B.By Phosphoros!I could have thought them from the Hesperian bowers,Where th' apples are of gold.A.There are but three.B.The beautiful is nowhere plentiful. —J. A. St. John.
A.'Twould be absurd to speak of what's to eat,As if you thought of such things; but, fair maid,Take of these apples.B.Oh, how beautiful!A.They are, indeed, since hither they but latelyHave come from the great king.B.By Phosphoros!I could have thought them from the Hesperian bowers,Where th' apples are of gold.A.There are but three.B.The beautiful is nowhere plentiful. —J. A. St. John.
A.'Twould be absurd to speak of what's to eat,As if you thought of such things; but, fair maid,Take of these apples.B.Oh, how beautiful!A.They are, indeed, since hither they but latelyHave come from the great king.B.By Phosphoros!I could have thought them from the Hesperian bowers,Where th' apples are of gold.A.There are but three.B.The beautiful is nowhere plentiful. —J. A. St. John.
A.'Twould be absurd to speak of what's to eat,As if you thought of such things; but, fair maid,Take of these apples.B.Oh, how beautiful!A.They are, indeed, since hither they but latelyHave come from the great king.B.By Phosphoros!I could have thought them from the Hesperian bowers,Where th' apples are of gold.A.There are but three.B.The beautiful is nowhere plentiful. —J. A. St. John.
A.'Twould be absurd to speak of what's to eat,
As if you thought of such things; but, fair maid,
Take of these apples.
B.Oh, how beautiful!
A.They are, indeed, since hither they but lately
Have come from the great king.
B.By Phosphoros!
I could have thought them from the Hesperian bowers,
Where th' apples are of gold.
A.There are but three.
B.The beautiful is nowhere plentiful. —J. A. St. John.
Aristophanes.(Book iii. § 33, p. 145.)
Then every soul of them sat open-mouth'd,Like roasted oysters gaping in a row. —J. H. Frere.
Then every soul of them sat open-mouth'd,Like roasted oysters gaping in a row. —J. H. Frere.
Then every soul of them sat open-mouth'd,Like roasted oysters gaping in a row. —J. H. Frere.
Then every soul of them sat open-mouth'd,Like roasted oysters gaping in a row. —J. H. Frere.
Then every soul of them sat open-mouth'd,
Like roasted oysters gaping in a row. —J. H. Frere.
Archestratus.(Book iii. § 44, p. 154.)
For mussels you must go to Ænos; oystersYou'll find best at Abydos. ParionRejoices in its urchins; but if cocklesGigantic and sweet-tasted you would eat,A voyage must be made to Mitylene,Or the Ambracian Gulf, where they aboundWith many other dainties. At Messina,Near to the Faro, are pelorian conchs,Nor are those bad you find near Ephesos;For Tethyan oysters, go to Chalcedon;But for the Heralds, may Zeus overwhelm themBoth in the sea and in the agora!Aye, all except my old friend Agathon,Who in the midst of Lesbian vineyards dwells. —J. A. St. John.
For mussels you must go to Ænos; oystersYou'll find best at Abydos. ParionRejoices in its urchins; but if cocklesGigantic and sweet-tasted you would eat,A voyage must be made to Mitylene,Or the Ambracian Gulf, where they aboundWith many other dainties. At Messina,Near to the Faro, are pelorian conchs,Nor are those bad you find near Ephesos;For Tethyan oysters, go to Chalcedon;But for the Heralds, may Zeus overwhelm themBoth in the sea and in the agora!Aye, all except my old friend Agathon,Who in the midst of Lesbian vineyards dwells. —J. A. St. John.
For mussels you must go to Ænos; oystersYou'll find best at Abydos. ParionRejoices in its urchins; but if cocklesGigantic and sweet-tasted you would eat,A voyage must be made to Mitylene,Or the Ambracian Gulf, where they aboundWith many other dainties. At Messina,Near to the Faro, are pelorian conchs,Nor are those bad you find near Ephesos;For Tethyan oysters, go to Chalcedon;But for the Heralds, may Zeus overwhelm themBoth in the sea and in the agora!Aye, all except my old friend Agathon,Who in the midst of Lesbian vineyards dwells. —J. A. St. John.
For mussels you must go to Ænos; oystersYou'll find best at Abydos. ParionRejoices in its urchins; but if cocklesGigantic and sweet-tasted you would eat,A voyage must be made to Mitylene,Or the Ambracian Gulf, where they aboundWith many other dainties. At Messina,Near to the Faro, are pelorian conchs,Nor are those bad you find near Ephesos;For Tethyan oysters, go to Chalcedon;But for the Heralds, may Zeus overwhelm themBoth in the sea and in the agora!Aye, all except my old friend Agathon,Who in the midst of Lesbian vineyards dwells. —J. A. St. John.
For mussels you must go to Ænos; oysters
You'll find best at Abydos. Parion
Rejoices in its urchins; but if cockles
Gigantic and sweet-tasted you would eat,
A voyage must be made to Mitylene,
Or the Ambracian Gulf, where they abound
With many other dainties. At Messina,
Near to the Faro, are pelorian conchs,
Nor are those bad you find near Ephesos;
For Tethyan oysters, go to Chalcedon;
But for the Heralds, may Zeus overwhelm them
Both in the sea and in the agora!
Aye, all except my old friend Agathon,
Who in the midst of Lesbian vineyards dwells. —J. A. St. John.
Damoxenus.(Book iii. § 60, p. 170.)
Master Cook.Behold in me a pupil of the schoolOf the sage Epicurus.Friend.Thou a sage!M. C.Ay! Epicurus too was sure a cook,And knew the sovereign good. Nature his study,While practice perfected his theory.Divine philosophy alone can teachThe difference which the fishGlociscusshowsIn winter and in summer: how to learnWhich fish to choose, when set the Pleiades,And at the solstice. 'Tis change of seasonsWhich threats mankind, and shakes their changeful frame.This dost thou comprehend? Know, what we useIn season, is most seasonably good!Friend.Most learned cook, who can observe these canons?M. C.And therefore phlegm and colics make a manA most indecent guest. The alimentDress'd in my kitchen is true aliment;Light of digestion easily it passes;The chyle soft-blending from the juicy foodRepairs the solids.Friend.Ah! the chyle! the solids!Thou new Democritus! thou sage of medicine!Versed in the mysteries of the Iatric art!M. C.Now mark the blunders of our vulgar cooks.See them prepare a dish of various fish,Showering profuse the pounded Indian grain,An overpowering vapour, gallimaufry,A multitude confused of pothering odours!But, know, the genius of the art consistsTo make the nostrils feel each scent distinct;And not in washing plates to free from smoke.I never enter in my kitchen, I!But sit apart, and in the cool direct,Observant of what passes, scullions' toil.Friend.What dost thou there?M. C.I guide the mighty whole;Explore the causes, prophesy the dish.'Tis thus I speak: "Leave, leave that ponderous ham;Keep up the fire, and lively play the flameBeneath those lobster patties; patient here,Fix'd as a statue, skim, incessant skim.Steep well this small Glociscus in its sauce,And boil that sea-dog in a cullender;This eel requires more salt and marjoram;Roast well that piece of kid on either sideEqual; that sweetbread boil not over much."'Tis thus, my friend, I make the concert play.Friend.O man of science! 'tis thy babble kills!M. C.And then no useless dish my table crowds;Harmonious ranged, and consonantly just.Friend.Ha! what means this?M. C.Divinest music all!As in a concert instruments resound,My order'd dishes in their courses chime.So Epicurus dictated the artOf sweet voluptuousness, and ate in order,Musing delighted o'er the sovereign good!Let raving Stoics in a labyrinthRun after virtue; they shall find no end.Thou, what is foreign to mankind, abjure.—D'Israeli.
Master Cook.Behold in me a pupil of the schoolOf the sage Epicurus.Friend.Thou a sage!M. C.Ay! Epicurus too was sure a cook,And knew the sovereign good. Nature his study,While practice perfected his theory.Divine philosophy alone can teachThe difference which the fishGlociscusshowsIn winter and in summer: how to learnWhich fish to choose, when set the Pleiades,And at the solstice. 'Tis change of seasonsWhich threats mankind, and shakes their changeful frame.This dost thou comprehend? Know, what we useIn season, is most seasonably good!Friend.Most learned cook, who can observe these canons?M. C.And therefore phlegm and colics make a manA most indecent guest. The alimentDress'd in my kitchen is true aliment;Light of digestion easily it passes;The chyle soft-blending from the juicy foodRepairs the solids.Friend.Ah! the chyle! the solids!Thou new Democritus! thou sage of medicine!Versed in the mysteries of the Iatric art!M. C.Now mark the blunders of our vulgar cooks.See them prepare a dish of various fish,Showering profuse the pounded Indian grain,An overpowering vapour, gallimaufry,A multitude confused of pothering odours!But, know, the genius of the art consistsTo make the nostrils feel each scent distinct;And not in washing plates to free from smoke.I never enter in my kitchen, I!But sit apart, and in the cool direct,Observant of what passes, scullions' toil.Friend.What dost thou there?M. C.I guide the mighty whole;Explore the causes, prophesy the dish.'Tis thus I speak: "Leave, leave that ponderous ham;Keep up the fire, and lively play the flameBeneath those lobster patties; patient here,Fix'd as a statue, skim, incessant skim.Steep well this small Glociscus in its sauce,And boil that sea-dog in a cullender;This eel requires more salt and marjoram;Roast well that piece of kid on either sideEqual; that sweetbread boil not over much."'Tis thus, my friend, I make the concert play.Friend.O man of science! 'tis thy babble kills!M. C.And then no useless dish my table crowds;Harmonious ranged, and consonantly just.Friend.Ha! what means this?M. C.Divinest music all!As in a concert instruments resound,My order'd dishes in their courses chime.So Epicurus dictated the artOf sweet voluptuousness, and ate in order,Musing delighted o'er the sovereign good!Let raving Stoics in a labyrinthRun after virtue; they shall find no end.Thou, what is foreign to mankind, abjure.—D'Israeli.
Master Cook.Behold in me a pupil of the schoolOf the sage Epicurus.Friend.Thou a sage!M. C.Ay! Epicurus too was sure a cook,And knew the sovereign good. Nature his study,While practice perfected his theory.Divine philosophy alone can teachThe difference which the fishGlociscusshowsIn winter and in summer: how to learnWhich fish to choose, when set the Pleiades,And at the solstice. 'Tis change of seasonsWhich threats mankind, and shakes their changeful frame.This dost thou comprehend? Know, what we useIn season, is most seasonably good!Friend.Most learned cook, who can observe these canons?M. C.And therefore phlegm and colics make a manA most indecent guest. The alimentDress'd in my kitchen is true aliment;Light of digestion easily it passes;The chyle soft-blending from the juicy foodRepairs the solids.Friend.Ah! the chyle! the solids!Thou new Democritus! thou sage of medicine!Versed in the mysteries of the Iatric art!M. C.Now mark the blunders of our vulgar cooks.See them prepare a dish of various fish,Showering profuse the pounded Indian grain,An overpowering vapour, gallimaufry,A multitude confused of pothering odours!But, know, the genius of the art consistsTo make the nostrils feel each scent distinct;And not in washing plates to free from smoke.I never enter in my kitchen, I!But sit apart, and in the cool direct,Observant of what passes, scullions' toil.Friend.What dost thou there?M. C.I guide the mighty whole;Explore the causes, prophesy the dish.'Tis thus I speak: "Leave, leave that ponderous ham;Keep up the fire, and lively play the flameBeneath those lobster patties; patient here,Fix'd as a statue, skim, incessant skim.Steep well this small Glociscus in its sauce,And boil that sea-dog in a cullender;This eel requires more salt and marjoram;Roast well that piece of kid on either sideEqual; that sweetbread boil not over much."'Tis thus, my friend, I make the concert play.Friend.O man of science! 'tis thy babble kills!M. C.And then no useless dish my table crowds;Harmonious ranged, and consonantly just.Friend.Ha! what means this?M. C.Divinest music all!As in a concert instruments resound,My order'd dishes in their courses chime.So Epicurus dictated the artOf sweet voluptuousness, and ate in order,Musing delighted o'er the sovereign good!Let raving Stoics in a labyrinthRun after virtue; they shall find no end.Thou, what is foreign to mankind, abjure.—D'Israeli.
Master Cook.Behold in me a pupil of the schoolOf the sage Epicurus.Friend.Thou a sage!M. C.Ay! Epicurus too was sure a cook,And knew the sovereign good. Nature his study,While practice perfected his theory.Divine philosophy alone can teachThe difference which the fishGlociscusshowsIn winter and in summer: how to learnWhich fish to choose, when set the Pleiades,And at the solstice. 'Tis change of seasonsWhich threats mankind, and shakes their changeful frame.This dost thou comprehend? Know, what we useIn season, is most seasonably good!Friend.Most learned cook, who can observe these canons?M. C.And therefore phlegm and colics make a manA most indecent guest. The alimentDress'd in my kitchen is true aliment;Light of digestion easily it passes;The chyle soft-blending from the juicy foodRepairs the solids.Friend.Ah! the chyle! the solids!Thou new Democritus! thou sage of medicine!Versed in the mysteries of the Iatric art!M. C.Now mark the blunders of our vulgar cooks.See them prepare a dish of various fish,Showering profuse the pounded Indian grain,An overpowering vapour, gallimaufry,A multitude confused of pothering odours!But, know, the genius of the art consistsTo make the nostrils feel each scent distinct;And not in washing plates to free from smoke.I never enter in my kitchen, I!But sit apart, and in the cool direct,Observant of what passes, scullions' toil.Friend.What dost thou there?M. C.I guide the mighty whole;Explore the causes, prophesy the dish.'Tis thus I speak: "Leave, leave that ponderous ham;Keep up the fire, and lively play the flameBeneath those lobster patties; patient here,Fix'd as a statue, skim, incessant skim.Steep well this small Glociscus in its sauce,And boil that sea-dog in a cullender;This eel requires more salt and marjoram;Roast well that piece of kid on either sideEqual; that sweetbread boil not over much."'Tis thus, my friend, I make the concert play.Friend.O man of science! 'tis thy babble kills!M. C.And then no useless dish my table crowds;Harmonious ranged, and consonantly just.Friend.Ha! what means this?M. C.Divinest music all!As in a concert instruments resound,My order'd dishes in their courses chime.So Epicurus dictated the artOf sweet voluptuousness, and ate in order,Musing delighted o'er the sovereign good!Let raving Stoics in a labyrinthRun after virtue; they shall find no end.Thou, what is foreign to mankind, abjure.—D'Israeli.
Master Cook.Behold in me a pupil of the school
Of the sage Epicurus.
Friend.Thou a sage!
M. C.Ay! Epicurus too was sure a cook,
And knew the sovereign good. Nature his study,
While practice perfected his theory.
Divine philosophy alone can teach
The difference which the fishGlociscusshows
In winter and in summer: how to learn
Which fish to choose, when set the Pleiades,
And at the solstice. 'Tis change of seasons
Which threats mankind, and shakes their changeful frame.
This dost thou comprehend? Know, what we use
In season, is most seasonably good!
Friend.Most learned cook, who can observe these canons?
M. C.And therefore phlegm and colics make a man
A most indecent guest. The aliment
Dress'd in my kitchen is true aliment;
Light of digestion easily it passes;
The chyle soft-blending from the juicy food
Repairs the solids.
Friend.Ah! the chyle! the solids!
Thou new Democritus! thou sage of medicine!
Versed in the mysteries of the Iatric art!
M. C.Now mark the blunders of our vulgar cooks.
See them prepare a dish of various fish,
Showering profuse the pounded Indian grain,
An overpowering vapour, gallimaufry,
A multitude confused of pothering odours!
But, know, the genius of the art consists
To make the nostrils feel each scent distinct;
And not in washing plates to free from smoke.
I never enter in my kitchen, I!
But sit apart, and in the cool direct,
Observant of what passes, scullions' toil.
Friend.What dost thou there?
M. C.I guide the mighty whole;
Explore the causes, prophesy the dish.
'Tis thus I speak: "Leave, leave that ponderous ham;
Keep up the fire, and lively play the flame
Beneath those lobster patties; patient here,
Fix'd as a statue, skim, incessant skim.
Steep well this small Glociscus in its sauce,
And boil that sea-dog in a cullender;
This eel requires more salt and marjoram;
Roast well that piece of kid on either side
Equal; that sweetbread boil not over much."
'Tis thus, my friend, I make the concert play.
Friend.O man of science! 'tis thy babble kills!
M. C.And then no useless dish my table crowds;
Harmonious ranged, and consonantly just.
Friend.Ha! what means this?
M. C.Divinest music all!
As in a concert instruments resound,
My order'd dishes in their courses chime.
So Epicurus dictated the art
Of sweet voluptuousness, and ate in order,
Musing delighted o'er the sovereign good!
Let raving Stoics in a labyrinth
Run after virtue; they shall find no end.
Thou, what is foreign to mankind, abjure.—D'Israeli.
Bato.[146](Book iii. § 61, p. 171.)
Father.Thou hast destroy'd the morals of my son,And turn'd his mind, not so disposed, to vice,Unholy pedagogue! With morning drams,A filthy custom, which he caught from thee,Clean from his former practice, now he sapsHis youthful vigour. Is it thus you school him?Sophist.And if I did, what harms him? Why complain you?He does but follow what the wise prescribe,The great voluptuous law of Epicurus,Pleasure, the best of all good things on earth;And how but thus can pleasure be obtained?Father.Virtue will give it him.Sophist.And what but virtueIs our philosophy? When have you metOne of our sect flush'd and disguised with wine?Or one, but one of those you tax so roundly,On whom to fix a fault?Father.Not one, but all,All, who march forth with supercilious browHigh arch'd with pride, beating the city-rounds,Like constables in quest of rogues and outlaws,To find that prodigy in human nature,A wise and perfect man! What is your scienceBut kitchen-science? wisely to descantUpon the choice bits of a savoury carp,And prove by logic that hissummum bonumLies in his head; there you can lecture well,And, whilst your grey-beards wag, the gaping guestSits wondering with a foolish face of praise. —Cumberland.
Father.Thou hast destroy'd the morals of my son,And turn'd his mind, not so disposed, to vice,Unholy pedagogue! With morning drams,A filthy custom, which he caught from thee,Clean from his former practice, now he sapsHis youthful vigour. Is it thus you school him?Sophist.And if I did, what harms him? Why complain you?He does but follow what the wise prescribe,The great voluptuous law of Epicurus,Pleasure, the best of all good things on earth;And how but thus can pleasure be obtained?Father.Virtue will give it him.Sophist.And what but virtueIs our philosophy? When have you metOne of our sect flush'd and disguised with wine?Or one, but one of those you tax so roundly,On whom to fix a fault?Father.Not one, but all,All, who march forth with supercilious browHigh arch'd with pride, beating the city-rounds,Like constables in quest of rogues and outlaws,To find that prodigy in human nature,A wise and perfect man! What is your scienceBut kitchen-science? wisely to descantUpon the choice bits of a savoury carp,And prove by logic that hissummum bonumLies in his head; there you can lecture well,And, whilst your grey-beards wag, the gaping guestSits wondering with a foolish face of praise. —Cumberland.
Father.Thou hast destroy'd the morals of my son,And turn'd his mind, not so disposed, to vice,Unholy pedagogue! With morning drams,A filthy custom, which he caught from thee,Clean from his former practice, now he sapsHis youthful vigour. Is it thus you school him?Sophist.And if I did, what harms him? Why complain you?He does but follow what the wise prescribe,The great voluptuous law of Epicurus,Pleasure, the best of all good things on earth;And how but thus can pleasure be obtained?Father.Virtue will give it him.Sophist.And what but virtueIs our philosophy? When have you metOne of our sect flush'd and disguised with wine?Or one, but one of those you tax so roundly,On whom to fix a fault?Father.Not one, but all,All, who march forth with supercilious browHigh arch'd with pride, beating the city-rounds,Like constables in quest of rogues and outlaws,To find that prodigy in human nature,A wise and perfect man! What is your scienceBut kitchen-science? wisely to descantUpon the choice bits of a savoury carp,And prove by logic that hissummum bonumLies in his head; there you can lecture well,And, whilst your grey-beards wag, the gaping guestSits wondering with a foolish face of praise. —Cumberland.
Father.Thou hast destroy'd the morals of my son,And turn'd his mind, not so disposed, to vice,Unholy pedagogue! With morning drams,A filthy custom, which he caught from thee,Clean from his former practice, now he sapsHis youthful vigour. Is it thus you school him?Sophist.And if I did, what harms him? Why complain you?He does but follow what the wise prescribe,The great voluptuous law of Epicurus,Pleasure, the best of all good things on earth;And how but thus can pleasure be obtained?Father.Virtue will give it him.Sophist.And what but virtueIs our philosophy? When have you metOne of our sect flush'd and disguised with wine?Or one, but one of those you tax so roundly,On whom to fix a fault?Father.Not one, but all,All, who march forth with supercilious browHigh arch'd with pride, beating the city-rounds,Like constables in quest of rogues and outlaws,To find that prodigy in human nature,A wise and perfect man! What is your scienceBut kitchen-science? wisely to descantUpon the choice bits of a savoury carp,And prove by logic that hissummum bonumLies in his head; there you can lecture well,And, whilst your grey-beards wag, the gaping guestSits wondering with a foolish face of praise. —Cumberland.
Father.Thou hast destroy'd the morals of my son,
And turn'd his mind, not so disposed, to vice,
Unholy pedagogue! With morning drams,
A filthy custom, which he caught from thee,
Clean from his former practice, now he saps
His youthful vigour. Is it thus you school him?
Sophist.And if I did, what harms him? Why complain you?
He does but follow what the wise prescribe,
The great voluptuous law of Epicurus,
Pleasure, the best of all good things on earth;
And how but thus can pleasure be obtained?
Father.Virtue will give it him.
Sophist.And what but virtue
Is our philosophy? When have you met
One of our sect flush'd and disguised with wine?
Or one, but one of those you tax so roundly,
On whom to fix a fault?
Father.Not one, but all,
All, who march forth with supercilious brow
High arch'd with pride, beating the city-rounds,
Like constables in quest of rogues and outlaws,
To find that prodigy in human nature,
A wise and perfect man! What is your science
But kitchen-science? wisely to descant
Upon the choice bits of a savoury carp,
And prove by logic that hissummum bonum
Lies in his head; there you can lecture well,
And, whilst your grey-beards wag, the gaping guest
Sits wondering with a foolish face of praise. —Cumberland.
Antiphanes.(Book iii. § 62, p. 172.)
O, what a fool is he,Who dreams about stability, or thinks,Good easy dolt! that aught in life's secure!Security!—either a loan is ask'd;Then house and all that it contains are goneAt one fell sweep—or you've a suit to meet,And Law and Ruin ever are twin-brothers.—Art named to a general's post? fines, penalties,And debts upon the heels of office follow.Do the stage-charges fall upon you? good:The chorus must go clad in spangled robes,Yourself may pace in rags. Far happier heWho's named a trierarch:—he buys a halterAnd wisely balks at once th' expensive office.—Sleeping or waking, on the sea or land,Among your menials or before your foes,Danger and Insecurity are with you.The very table, charged with viands, isMere mock'ry oft;—gives promise to the eye,And breaks it to the lip. Is there nought safe then?Yes, by the gods,—that which has pass'd the teeth,And is in a state of deglutition: reckonYourself secure of that, and that alone:All else is fleet, precarious, insecure. —Mitchell.
O, what a fool is he,Who dreams about stability, or thinks,Good easy dolt! that aught in life's secure!Security!—either a loan is ask'd;Then house and all that it contains are goneAt one fell sweep—or you've a suit to meet,And Law and Ruin ever are twin-brothers.—Art named to a general's post? fines, penalties,And debts upon the heels of office follow.Do the stage-charges fall upon you? good:The chorus must go clad in spangled robes,Yourself may pace in rags. Far happier heWho's named a trierarch:—he buys a halterAnd wisely balks at once th' expensive office.—Sleeping or waking, on the sea or land,Among your menials or before your foes,Danger and Insecurity are with you.The very table, charged with viands, isMere mock'ry oft;—gives promise to the eye,And breaks it to the lip. Is there nought safe then?Yes, by the gods,—that which has pass'd the teeth,And is in a state of deglutition: reckonYourself secure of that, and that alone:All else is fleet, precarious, insecure. —Mitchell.
O, what a fool is he,Who dreams about stability, or thinks,Good easy dolt! that aught in life's secure!Security!—either a loan is ask'd;Then house and all that it contains are goneAt one fell sweep—or you've a suit to meet,And Law and Ruin ever are twin-brothers.—Art named to a general's post? fines, penalties,And debts upon the heels of office follow.Do the stage-charges fall upon you? good:The chorus must go clad in spangled robes,Yourself may pace in rags. Far happier heWho's named a trierarch:—he buys a halterAnd wisely balks at once th' expensive office.—Sleeping or waking, on the sea or land,Among your menials or before your foes,Danger and Insecurity are with you.The very table, charged with viands, isMere mock'ry oft;—gives promise to the eye,And breaks it to the lip. Is there nought safe then?Yes, by the gods,—that which has pass'd the teeth,And is in a state of deglutition: reckonYourself secure of that, and that alone:All else is fleet, precarious, insecure. —Mitchell.
O, what a fool is he,Who dreams about stability, or thinks,Good easy dolt! that aught in life's secure!Security!—either a loan is ask'd;Then house and all that it contains are goneAt one fell sweep—or you've a suit to meet,And Law and Ruin ever are twin-brothers.—Art named to a general's post? fines, penalties,And debts upon the heels of office follow.Do the stage-charges fall upon you? good:The chorus must go clad in spangled robes,Yourself may pace in rags. Far happier heWho's named a trierarch:—he buys a halterAnd wisely balks at once th' expensive office.—Sleeping or waking, on the sea or land,Among your menials or before your foes,Danger and Insecurity are with you.The very table, charged with viands, isMere mock'ry oft;—gives promise to the eye,And breaks it to the lip. Is there nought safe then?Yes, by the gods,—that which has pass'd the teeth,And is in a state of deglutition: reckonYourself secure of that, and that alone:All else is fleet, precarious, insecure. —Mitchell.
O, what a fool is he,
Who dreams about stability, or thinks,
Good easy dolt! that aught in life's secure!
Security!—either a loan is ask'd;
Then house and all that it contains are gone
At one fell sweep—or you've a suit to meet,
And Law and Ruin ever are twin-brothers.—
Art named to a general's post? fines, penalties,
And debts upon the heels of office follow.
Do the stage-charges fall upon you? good:
The chorus must go clad in spangled robes,
Yourself may pace in rags. Far happier he
Who's named a trierarch:—he buys a halter
And wisely balks at once th' expensive office.—
Sleeping or waking, on the sea or land,
Among your menials or before your foes,
Danger and Insecurity are with you.
The very table, charged with viands, is
Mere mock'ry oft;—gives promise to the eye,
And breaks it to the lip. Is there nought safe then?
Yes, by the gods,—that which has pass'd the teeth,
And is in a state of deglutition: reckon
Yourself secure of that, and that alone:
All else is fleet, precarious, insecure. —Mitchell.
Alexis.(Book iii. § 86, p. 194.)
A.I must have all accounted for:Item by item, charge by charge; or look ye:—There's not a stiver to be had from me.B.'Tis but a fair demand.A.What hoa! within there! [Calls to his servant.]My style and tablets. (Style and tablets are brought.)Now, Sir, to your reckoning.B.To salt a herring—price—two farthings—A.Good. [Writes.]B.To mussels—three—A.No villany as yet. [Writes.]B.Item, to eels—one obol—A.Still you're guiltless. [Writes.]B.Next came the radishes; yourselves allow'd—A.And we retract not—they were delicateAnd good.B.For these I touch two obols.A.[Aside.] Tush!The praise is in the bill—better our palatesHad been less riotous—onward.B.To a randOf tunny-fish—this charge will break a sixpence.A.Dealst on the square? no filching?—no purloining?—B.No, not a doit—thou'rt green, good fellow, green;And a mere novice yet in market-prices.Why, man, the palmer-worms have fix'd their teethUpon the kitchen-herbs.A.Ergo, salt fishBears twice its usual price—call you that logic?B.Nay, if you've doubts—to the fishmonger straight,—He lives and will resolve them.—To a conger-eel—Ten obols.A.I have nothing to object:Proceed.B.Item, broil'd fish—a drachma.A.Fie on't!—I was a man, and here's the fever comeWith double force.B.There's wine too in the bill,Bought when my masters were well half-seas over—Three pitchers, at ten obols to the pitcher.—Mitchell.
A.I must have all accounted for:Item by item, charge by charge; or look ye:—There's not a stiver to be had from me.B.'Tis but a fair demand.A.What hoa! within there! [Calls to his servant.]My style and tablets. (Style and tablets are brought.)Now, Sir, to your reckoning.B.To salt a herring—price—two farthings—A.Good. [Writes.]B.To mussels—three—A.No villany as yet. [Writes.]B.Item, to eels—one obol—A.Still you're guiltless. [Writes.]B.Next came the radishes; yourselves allow'd—A.And we retract not—they were delicateAnd good.B.For these I touch two obols.A.[Aside.] Tush!The praise is in the bill—better our palatesHad been less riotous—onward.B.To a randOf tunny-fish—this charge will break a sixpence.A.Dealst on the square? no filching?—no purloining?—B.No, not a doit—thou'rt green, good fellow, green;And a mere novice yet in market-prices.Why, man, the palmer-worms have fix'd their teethUpon the kitchen-herbs.A.Ergo, salt fishBears twice its usual price—call you that logic?B.Nay, if you've doubts—to the fishmonger straight,—He lives and will resolve them.—To a conger-eel—Ten obols.A.I have nothing to object:Proceed.B.Item, broil'd fish—a drachma.A.Fie on't!—I was a man, and here's the fever comeWith double force.B.There's wine too in the bill,Bought when my masters were well half-seas over—Three pitchers, at ten obols to the pitcher.—Mitchell.
A.I must have all accounted for:Item by item, charge by charge; or look ye:—There's not a stiver to be had from me.B.'Tis but a fair demand.A.What hoa! within there! [Calls to his servant.]My style and tablets. (Style and tablets are brought.)Now, Sir, to your reckoning.B.To salt a herring—price—two farthings—A.Good. [Writes.]B.To mussels—three—A.No villany as yet. [Writes.]B.Item, to eels—one obol—A.Still you're guiltless. [Writes.]B.Next came the radishes; yourselves allow'd—A.And we retract not—they were delicateAnd good.B.For these I touch two obols.A.[Aside.] Tush!The praise is in the bill—better our palatesHad been less riotous—onward.B.To a randOf tunny-fish—this charge will break a sixpence.A.Dealst on the square? no filching?—no purloining?—B.No, not a doit—thou'rt green, good fellow, green;And a mere novice yet in market-prices.Why, man, the palmer-worms have fix'd their teethUpon the kitchen-herbs.A.Ergo, salt fishBears twice its usual price—call you that logic?B.Nay, if you've doubts—to the fishmonger straight,—He lives and will resolve them.—To a conger-eel—Ten obols.A.I have nothing to object:Proceed.B.Item, broil'd fish—a drachma.A.Fie on't!—I was a man, and here's the fever comeWith double force.B.There's wine too in the bill,Bought when my masters were well half-seas over—Three pitchers, at ten obols to the pitcher.—Mitchell.
A.I must have all accounted for:Item by item, charge by charge; or look ye:—There's not a stiver to be had from me.B.'Tis but a fair demand.A.What hoa! within there! [Calls to his servant.]My style and tablets. (Style and tablets are brought.)Now, Sir, to your reckoning.B.To salt a herring—price—two farthings—A.Good. [Writes.]B.To mussels—three—A.No villany as yet. [Writes.]B.Item, to eels—one obol—A.Still you're guiltless. [Writes.]B.Next came the radishes; yourselves allow'd—A.And we retract not—they were delicateAnd good.B.For these I touch two obols.A.[Aside.] Tush!The praise is in the bill—better our palatesHad been less riotous—onward.B.To a randOf tunny-fish—this charge will break a sixpence.A.Dealst on the square? no filching?—no purloining?—B.No, not a doit—thou'rt green, good fellow, green;And a mere novice yet in market-prices.Why, man, the palmer-worms have fix'd their teethUpon the kitchen-herbs.A.Ergo, salt fishBears twice its usual price—call you that logic?B.Nay, if you've doubts—to the fishmonger straight,—He lives and will resolve them.—To a conger-eel—Ten obols.A.I have nothing to object:Proceed.B.Item, broil'd fish—a drachma.A.Fie on't!—I was a man, and here's the fever comeWith double force.B.There's wine too in the bill,Bought when my masters were well half-seas over—Three pitchers, at ten obols to the pitcher.—Mitchell.
A.I must have all accounted for:
Item by item, charge by charge; or look ye:—
There's not a stiver to be had from me.
B.'Tis but a fair demand.
A.What hoa! within there! [Calls to his servant.]
My style and tablets. (Style and tablets are brought.)
Now, Sir, to your reckoning.
B.To salt a herring—price—two farthings—
A.Good. [Writes.]
B.To mussels—three—
A.No villany as yet. [Writes.]
B.Item, to eels—one obol—
A.Still you're guiltless. [Writes.]
B.Next came the radishes; yourselves allow'd—
A.And we retract not—they were delicate
And good.
B.For these I touch two obols.
A.[Aside.] Tush!
The praise is in the bill—better our palates
Had been less riotous—onward.
B.To a rand
Of tunny-fish—this charge will break a sixpence.
A.Dealst on the square? no filching?—no purloining?—
B.No, not a doit—thou'rt green, good fellow, green;
And a mere novice yet in market-prices.
Why, man, the palmer-worms have fix'd their teeth
Upon the kitchen-herbs.
A.Ergo, salt fish
Bears twice its usual price—call you that logic?
B.Nay, if you've doubts—to the fishmonger straight,—
He lives and will resolve them.—To a conger-eel—
Ten obols.
A.I have nothing to object:
Proceed.
B.Item, broil'd fish—a drachma.
A.Fie on't!—
I was a man, and here's the fever come
With double force.
B.There's wine too in the bill,
Bought when my masters were well half-seas over—
Three pitchers, at ten obols to the pitcher.—Mitchell.
Matron.[147](Book iv. § 13, p. 220.)
The feast, for cookery's various cates renown'd,By Attic host bestow'd, O Muse! resound.There too I went, with hunger in my train,And saw the loaves by hundreds pour'd amain,Beauteous to view, and vast beyond compare,Whiter than snow, and sweet as wheaten fare.* * * * * *Then all to pot-herbs stretch'd their hands in haste,But various viands lured my nicer taste;Choice bulbs, asparagus, and, daintier yet,Fat oysters help my appetite to whet.* * * * * *Like Thetis' self, the silver-footed dame—Great Nereus' daughter, curly cuttle came;Illustrious fish! that sole amid the brineWith equal ease can black and white divine;There too I saw the Tityus of the main,Huge conger—countless plates his bulk sustain.And o'er nine boards he rolls his cumbrous train!* * * * * *Right up stairs, down stairs, over high and low,The cook, with shoulder'd dishes marches slow,And forty sable pots behind him go.* * * * * *With these appear'd the Salaminian bands,Thirteen fat ducklings borne by servile hands;Proudly the cook led on the long array,And placed them where the Athenian squadrons lay.* * * * * *When now the rage of hunger was represt,And the pure lymph had sprinkled every guest,Sweet lilied unguents brought one blooming slave,And one from left to right fresh garlands gave;With Lesbian wine the bowl was quick supplied,Man vied with man to drain the racy tide;Then groan'd the second tables laden high,Where grapes and cool pomegranates please the eye,The lusty apple, and the juicy pear—Yet nought I touch'd, supinely lounging there;But when the huge round cake of golden hue,Ceres best offspring, met my raptured view,No more these hands their eager grasp restrain,How should such gift celestial tempt in vain? —D. K. Sandford.
The feast, for cookery's various cates renown'd,By Attic host bestow'd, O Muse! resound.There too I went, with hunger in my train,And saw the loaves by hundreds pour'd amain,Beauteous to view, and vast beyond compare,Whiter than snow, and sweet as wheaten fare.* * * * * *Then all to pot-herbs stretch'd their hands in haste,But various viands lured my nicer taste;Choice bulbs, asparagus, and, daintier yet,Fat oysters help my appetite to whet.* * * * * *Like Thetis' self, the silver-footed dame—Great Nereus' daughter, curly cuttle came;Illustrious fish! that sole amid the brineWith equal ease can black and white divine;There too I saw the Tityus of the main,Huge conger—countless plates his bulk sustain.And o'er nine boards he rolls his cumbrous train!* * * * * *Right up stairs, down stairs, over high and low,The cook, with shoulder'd dishes marches slow,And forty sable pots behind him go.* * * * * *With these appear'd the Salaminian bands,Thirteen fat ducklings borne by servile hands;Proudly the cook led on the long array,And placed them where the Athenian squadrons lay.* * * * * *When now the rage of hunger was represt,And the pure lymph had sprinkled every guest,Sweet lilied unguents brought one blooming slave,And one from left to right fresh garlands gave;With Lesbian wine the bowl was quick supplied,Man vied with man to drain the racy tide;Then groan'd the second tables laden high,Where grapes and cool pomegranates please the eye,The lusty apple, and the juicy pear—Yet nought I touch'd, supinely lounging there;But when the huge round cake of golden hue,Ceres best offspring, met my raptured view,No more these hands their eager grasp restrain,How should such gift celestial tempt in vain? —D. K. Sandford.
The feast, for cookery's various cates renown'd,By Attic host bestow'd, O Muse! resound.There too I went, with hunger in my train,And saw the loaves by hundreds pour'd amain,Beauteous to view, and vast beyond compare,Whiter than snow, and sweet as wheaten fare.* * * * * *Then all to pot-herbs stretch'd their hands in haste,But various viands lured my nicer taste;Choice bulbs, asparagus, and, daintier yet,Fat oysters help my appetite to whet.* * * * * *Like Thetis' self, the silver-footed dame—Great Nereus' daughter, curly cuttle came;Illustrious fish! that sole amid the brineWith equal ease can black and white divine;There too I saw the Tityus of the main,Huge conger—countless plates his bulk sustain.And o'er nine boards he rolls his cumbrous train!* * * * * *Right up stairs, down stairs, over high and low,The cook, with shoulder'd dishes marches slow,And forty sable pots behind him go.* * * * * *With these appear'd the Salaminian bands,Thirteen fat ducklings borne by servile hands;Proudly the cook led on the long array,And placed them where the Athenian squadrons lay.* * * * * *When now the rage of hunger was represt,And the pure lymph had sprinkled every guest,Sweet lilied unguents brought one blooming slave,And one from left to right fresh garlands gave;With Lesbian wine the bowl was quick supplied,Man vied with man to drain the racy tide;Then groan'd the second tables laden high,Where grapes and cool pomegranates please the eye,The lusty apple, and the juicy pear—Yet nought I touch'd, supinely lounging there;But when the huge round cake of golden hue,Ceres best offspring, met my raptured view,No more these hands their eager grasp restrain,How should such gift celestial tempt in vain? —D. K. Sandford.
The feast, for cookery's various cates renown'd,By Attic host bestow'd, O Muse! resound.There too I went, with hunger in my train,And saw the loaves by hundreds pour'd amain,Beauteous to view, and vast beyond compare,Whiter than snow, and sweet as wheaten fare.* * * * * *Then all to pot-herbs stretch'd their hands in haste,But various viands lured my nicer taste;Choice bulbs, asparagus, and, daintier yet,Fat oysters help my appetite to whet.* * * * * *Like Thetis' self, the silver-footed dame—Great Nereus' daughter, curly cuttle came;Illustrious fish! that sole amid the brineWith equal ease can black and white divine;There too I saw the Tityus of the main,Huge conger—countless plates his bulk sustain.And o'er nine boards he rolls his cumbrous train!* * * * * *Right up stairs, down stairs, over high and low,The cook, with shoulder'd dishes marches slow,And forty sable pots behind him go.* * * * * *With these appear'd the Salaminian bands,Thirteen fat ducklings borne by servile hands;Proudly the cook led on the long array,And placed them where the Athenian squadrons lay.* * * * * *When now the rage of hunger was represt,And the pure lymph had sprinkled every guest,Sweet lilied unguents brought one blooming slave,And one from left to right fresh garlands gave;With Lesbian wine the bowl was quick supplied,Man vied with man to drain the racy tide;Then groan'd the second tables laden high,Where grapes and cool pomegranates please the eye,The lusty apple, and the juicy pear—Yet nought I touch'd, supinely lounging there;But when the huge round cake of golden hue,Ceres best offspring, met my raptured view,No more these hands their eager grasp restrain,How should such gift celestial tempt in vain? —D. K. Sandford.
The feast, for cookery's various cates renown'd,
By Attic host bestow'd, O Muse! resound.
There too I went, with hunger in my train,
And saw the loaves by hundreds pour'd amain,
Beauteous to view, and vast beyond compare,
Whiter than snow, and sweet as wheaten fare.
* * * * * *
Then all to pot-herbs stretch'd their hands in haste,
But various viands lured my nicer taste;
Choice bulbs, asparagus, and, daintier yet,
Fat oysters help my appetite to whet.
* * * * * *
Like Thetis' self, the silver-footed dame—
Great Nereus' daughter, curly cuttle came;
Illustrious fish! that sole amid the brine
With equal ease can black and white divine;
There too I saw the Tityus of the main,
Huge conger—countless plates his bulk sustain.
And o'er nine boards he rolls his cumbrous train!
* * * * * *
Right up stairs, down stairs, over high and low,
The cook, with shoulder'd dishes marches slow,
And forty sable pots behind him go.
* * * * * *
With these appear'd the Salaminian bands,
Thirteen fat ducklings borne by servile hands;
Proudly the cook led on the long array,
And placed them where the Athenian squadrons lay.
* * * * * *
When now the rage of hunger was represt,
And the pure lymph had sprinkled every guest,
Sweet lilied unguents brought one blooming slave,
And one from left to right fresh garlands gave;
With Lesbian wine the bowl was quick supplied,
Man vied with man to drain the racy tide;
Then groan'd the second tables laden high,
Where grapes and cool pomegranates please the eye,
The lusty apple, and the juicy pear—
Yet nought I touch'd, supinely lounging there;
But when the huge round cake of golden hue,
Ceres best offspring, met my raptured view,
No more these hands their eager grasp restrain,
How should such gift celestial tempt in vain? —D. K. Sandford.
Alexis.(Book iv. § 58, p. 264.)
How fertile in new tricks is Chærephon,To sup scot-free and everywhere find welcome!Spies he a broker's door with pots to let?There from the earliest dawn he takes his stand,To see whose cook arrives; from him he learnsWho 'tis that gives the feast,—flies to the house,Watches his time, and, when the yawning doorGapes for the guests, glides in among the first. —J. A. St. John.
How fertile in new tricks is Chærephon,To sup scot-free and everywhere find welcome!Spies he a broker's door with pots to let?There from the earliest dawn he takes his stand,To see whose cook arrives; from him he learnsWho 'tis that gives the feast,—flies to the house,Watches his time, and, when the yawning doorGapes for the guests, glides in among the first. —J. A. St. John.
How fertile in new tricks is Chærephon,To sup scot-free and everywhere find welcome!Spies he a broker's door with pots to let?There from the earliest dawn he takes his stand,To see whose cook arrives; from him he learnsWho 'tis that gives the feast,—flies to the house,Watches his time, and, when the yawning doorGapes for the guests, glides in among the first. —J. A. St. John.
How fertile in new tricks is Chærephon,To sup scot-free and everywhere find welcome!Spies he a broker's door with pots to let?There from the earliest dawn he takes his stand,To see whose cook arrives; from him he learnsWho 'tis that gives the feast,—flies to the house,Watches his time, and, when the yawning doorGapes for the guests, glides in among the first. —J. A. St. John.
How fertile in new tricks is Chærephon,
To sup scot-free and everywhere find welcome!
Spies he a broker's door with pots to let?
There from the earliest dawn he takes his stand,
To see whose cook arrives; from him he learns
Who 'tis that gives the feast,—flies to the house,
Watches his time, and, when the yawning door
Gapes for the guests, glides in among the first. —J. A. St. John.
Anaxippus.(Book iv. § 68, p. 271.)
Soup-ladle, flesh-hook, mortar, spit,Bucket and haft, with tool to fit,Such knives as oxen's hides explore,Add dishes, be they three or more. —Mitchell.
Soup-ladle, flesh-hook, mortar, spit,Bucket and haft, with tool to fit,Such knives as oxen's hides explore,Add dishes, be they three or more. —Mitchell.
Soup-ladle, flesh-hook, mortar, spit,Bucket and haft, with tool to fit,Such knives as oxen's hides explore,Add dishes, be they three or more. —Mitchell.
Soup-ladle, flesh-hook, mortar, spit,Bucket and haft, with tool to fit,Such knives as oxen's hides explore,Add dishes, be they three or more. —Mitchell.
Soup-ladle, flesh-hook, mortar, spit,
Bucket and haft, with tool to fit,
Such knives as oxen's hides explore,
Add dishes, be they three or more. —Mitchell.
Timocles.(Book vi. § 2, p. 354.)
Nay, my good friend, but hear me! I confessMan is the child of sorrow, and this world,In which we breathe, hath cares enough to plague us;But it hath means withal to soothe these cares,And he, who meditates on other's woes,Shall in that meditation lose his own:Call then the tragic poet to your aid,Hear him, and take instruction from the stage:Let Telephus appear; behold a prince,A spectacle of poverty and pain,Wretched in both.—And what if you are poor?Are you a demi-god? are you the sonOf Hercules? begone! complain no more.Doth your mind struggle with distracting thoughts?Do your wits wander? are you mad? Alas!So was Alcmæon, whilst the world adoredHis father as their God. Your eyes are dim;What then? the eyes of Œdipus were dark,Totally dark. You mourn a son; he's dead;Turn to the tale of Niobe for comfort,And match your loss with hers. You're lame of foot;Compare it with the foot of Philoctetes,And make no more complaint. But you are old,Old and unfortunate; consult Oëneus;Hear what a king endured, and learn content.Sum up your miseries, number up your sighs,The tragic stage shall give you tear for tear,And wash out all afflictions but its own.—Cumberland.
Nay, my good friend, but hear me! I confessMan is the child of sorrow, and this world,In which we breathe, hath cares enough to plague us;But it hath means withal to soothe these cares,And he, who meditates on other's woes,Shall in that meditation lose his own:Call then the tragic poet to your aid,Hear him, and take instruction from the stage:Let Telephus appear; behold a prince,A spectacle of poverty and pain,Wretched in both.—And what if you are poor?Are you a demi-god? are you the sonOf Hercules? begone! complain no more.Doth your mind struggle with distracting thoughts?Do your wits wander? are you mad? Alas!So was Alcmæon, whilst the world adoredHis father as their God. Your eyes are dim;What then? the eyes of Œdipus were dark,Totally dark. You mourn a son; he's dead;Turn to the tale of Niobe for comfort,And match your loss with hers. You're lame of foot;Compare it with the foot of Philoctetes,And make no more complaint. But you are old,Old and unfortunate; consult Oëneus;Hear what a king endured, and learn content.Sum up your miseries, number up your sighs,The tragic stage shall give you tear for tear,And wash out all afflictions but its own.—Cumberland.
Nay, my good friend, but hear me! I confessMan is the child of sorrow, and this world,In which we breathe, hath cares enough to plague us;But it hath means withal to soothe these cares,And he, who meditates on other's woes,Shall in that meditation lose his own:Call then the tragic poet to your aid,Hear him, and take instruction from the stage:Let Telephus appear; behold a prince,A spectacle of poverty and pain,Wretched in both.—And what if you are poor?Are you a demi-god? are you the sonOf Hercules? begone! complain no more.Doth your mind struggle with distracting thoughts?Do your wits wander? are you mad? Alas!So was Alcmæon, whilst the world adoredHis father as their God. Your eyes are dim;What then? the eyes of Œdipus were dark,Totally dark. You mourn a son; he's dead;Turn to the tale of Niobe for comfort,And match your loss with hers. You're lame of foot;Compare it with the foot of Philoctetes,And make no more complaint. But you are old,Old and unfortunate; consult Oëneus;Hear what a king endured, and learn content.Sum up your miseries, number up your sighs,The tragic stage shall give you tear for tear,And wash out all afflictions but its own.—Cumberland.
Nay, my good friend, but hear me! I confessMan is the child of sorrow, and this world,In which we breathe, hath cares enough to plague us;But it hath means withal to soothe these cares,And he, who meditates on other's woes,Shall in that meditation lose his own:Call then the tragic poet to your aid,Hear him, and take instruction from the stage:Let Telephus appear; behold a prince,A spectacle of poverty and pain,Wretched in both.—And what if you are poor?Are you a demi-god? are you the sonOf Hercules? begone! complain no more.Doth your mind struggle with distracting thoughts?Do your wits wander? are you mad? Alas!So was Alcmæon, whilst the world adoredHis father as their God. Your eyes are dim;What then? the eyes of Œdipus were dark,Totally dark. You mourn a son; he's dead;Turn to the tale of Niobe for comfort,And match your loss with hers. You're lame of foot;Compare it with the foot of Philoctetes,And make no more complaint. But you are old,Old and unfortunate; consult Oëneus;Hear what a king endured, and learn content.Sum up your miseries, number up your sighs,The tragic stage shall give you tear for tear,And wash out all afflictions but its own.—Cumberland.
Nay, my good friend, but hear me! I confess
Man is the child of sorrow, and this world,
In which we breathe, hath cares enough to plague us;
But it hath means withal to soothe these cares,
And he, who meditates on other's woes,
Shall in that meditation lose his own:
Call then the tragic poet to your aid,
Hear him, and take instruction from the stage:
Let Telephus appear; behold a prince,
A spectacle of poverty and pain,
Wretched in both.—And what if you are poor?
Are you a demi-god? are you the son
Of Hercules? begone! complain no more.
Doth your mind struggle with distracting thoughts?
Do your wits wander? are you mad? Alas!
So was Alcmæon, whilst the world adored
His father as their God. Your eyes are dim;
What then? the eyes of Œdipus were dark,
Totally dark. You mourn a son; he's dead;
Turn to the tale of Niobe for comfort,
And match your loss with hers. You're lame of foot;
Compare it with the foot of Philoctetes,
And make no more complaint. But you are old,
Old and unfortunate; consult Oëneus;
Hear what a king endured, and learn content.
Sum up your miseries, number up your sighs,
The tragic stage shall give you tear for tear,
And wash out all afflictions but its own.—Cumberland.
From the same.(Book vi. § 3, p. 355.)
Bid me say anything rather than this;But on this theme Demosthenes himselfShall sooner check the torrent of his speechThan I—Demosthenes! that angry orator,That bold Briareus, whose tremendous throat,Charged to the teeth with battering-rams and spears,Beats down opposers; brief in speech was he,But, crost in argument, his threat'ning eyesFlash'd fire, whilst thunder vollied from his lips. —Cumberland.
Bid me say anything rather than this;But on this theme Demosthenes himselfShall sooner check the torrent of his speechThan I—Demosthenes! that angry orator,That bold Briareus, whose tremendous throat,Charged to the teeth with battering-rams and spears,Beats down opposers; brief in speech was he,But, crost in argument, his threat'ning eyesFlash'd fire, whilst thunder vollied from his lips. —Cumberland.
Bid me say anything rather than this;But on this theme Demosthenes himselfShall sooner check the torrent of his speechThan I—Demosthenes! that angry orator,That bold Briareus, whose tremendous throat,Charged to the teeth with battering-rams and spears,Beats down opposers; brief in speech was he,But, crost in argument, his threat'ning eyesFlash'd fire, whilst thunder vollied from his lips. —Cumberland.
Bid me say anything rather than this;But on this theme Demosthenes himselfShall sooner check the torrent of his speechThan I—Demosthenes! that angry orator,That bold Briareus, whose tremendous throat,Charged to the teeth with battering-rams and spears,Beats down opposers; brief in speech was he,But, crost in argument, his threat'ning eyesFlash'd fire, whilst thunder vollied from his lips. —Cumberland.
Bid me say anything rather than this;
But on this theme Demosthenes himself
Shall sooner check the torrent of his speech
Than I—Demosthenes! that angry orator,
That bold Briareus, whose tremendous throat,
Charged to the teeth with battering-rams and spears,
Beats down opposers; brief in speech was he,
But, crost in argument, his threat'ning eyes
Flash'd fire, whilst thunder vollied from his lips. —Cumberland.
Antiphanes. (Book vi. § 3, p. 355.)
I once believed the Gorgons fabulous:But in the agora quickly changed my creed,And turn'd almost to stone, the pests beholdingStanding behind the fish stalls. Forced I amTo look another way when I accost them,Lest if I saw the fish they ask so much for,I should at once grow marble. —J. A. St. John.
I once believed the Gorgons fabulous:But in the agora quickly changed my creed,And turn'd almost to stone, the pests beholdingStanding behind the fish stalls. Forced I amTo look another way when I accost them,Lest if I saw the fish they ask so much for,I should at once grow marble. —J. A. St. John.
I once believed the Gorgons fabulous:But in the agora quickly changed my creed,And turn'd almost to stone, the pests beholdingStanding behind the fish stalls. Forced I amTo look another way when I accost them,Lest if I saw the fish they ask so much for,I should at once grow marble. —J. A. St. John.
I once believed the Gorgons fabulous:But in the agora quickly changed my creed,And turn'd almost to stone, the pests beholdingStanding behind the fish stalls. Forced I amTo look another way when I accost them,Lest if I saw the fish they ask so much for,I should at once grow marble. —J. A. St. John.
I once believed the Gorgons fabulous:
But in the agora quickly changed my creed,
And turn'd almost to stone, the pests beholding
Standing behind the fish stalls. Forced I am
To look another way when I accost them,
Lest if I saw the fish they ask so much for,
I should at once grow marble. —J. A. St. John.
The same.
I must confess that hitherto I deem'dThe Gorgons a mere fable, but just nowI stepp'd into the fish-market, and thereI saw, at once, the dread reality;And I was petrified, indeed, so much,That, to converse with them, I turn'd my backFor fear of being turn'd to stone; they ask'dA price so high and so extravagantFor a poor despicable paltry fish.—Anon.
I must confess that hitherto I deem'dThe Gorgons a mere fable, but just nowI stepp'd into the fish-market, and thereI saw, at once, the dread reality;And I was petrified, indeed, so much,That, to converse with them, I turn'd my backFor fear of being turn'd to stone; they ask'dA price so high and so extravagantFor a poor despicable paltry fish.—Anon.
I must confess that hitherto I deem'dThe Gorgons a mere fable, but just nowI stepp'd into the fish-market, and thereI saw, at once, the dread reality;And I was petrified, indeed, so much,That, to converse with them, I turn'd my backFor fear of being turn'd to stone; they ask'dA price so high and so extravagantFor a poor despicable paltry fish.—Anon.
I must confess that hitherto I deem'dThe Gorgons a mere fable, but just nowI stepp'd into the fish-market, and thereI saw, at once, the dread reality;And I was petrified, indeed, so much,That, to converse with them, I turn'd my backFor fear of being turn'd to stone; they ask'dA price so high and so extravagantFor a poor despicable paltry fish.—Anon.
I must confess that hitherto I deem'd
The Gorgons a mere fable, but just now
I stepp'd into the fish-market, and there
I saw, at once, the dread reality;
And I was petrified, indeed, so much,
That, to converse with them, I turn'd my back
For fear of being turn'd to stone; they ask'd
A price so high and so extravagant
For a poor despicable paltry fish.—Anon.
Amphis.(Book vi. § 5, p. 356.)
The general of an army is at leastA thousand times more easy of access,And you may get an answer quicker tooThan from these cursed fishmongers: ask themThe price of their commodity, they holdA wilful silence, and look down with shame,Like Telephus; with reason good; for theyAre, one and all, without exception,A set of precious scoundrels. Speak to one,He'll measure you from top to toe, then lookUpon his fish, but still no answer give.Turn o'er a polypus, and ask anotherThe price, he soon begins to swell and chafe,And mutters out half-words between his teeth,But nothing so distinct that you may learnHis real meaning—so many oboli;But then the number you are still to guess,The syllable is wilfully suppress'd,Or left half utter'd. This you must endure,And more, if you attend the fish-market. —Anon.
The general of an army is at leastA thousand times more easy of access,And you may get an answer quicker tooThan from these cursed fishmongers: ask themThe price of their commodity, they holdA wilful silence, and look down with shame,Like Telephus; with reason good; for theyAre, one and all, without exception,A set of precious scoundrels. Speak to one,He'll measure you from top to toe, then lookUpon his fish, but still no answer give.Turn o'er a polypus, and ask anotherThe price, he soon begins to swell and chafe,And mutters out half-words between his teeth,But nothing so distinct that you may learnHis real meaning—so many oboli;But then the number you are still to guess,The syllable is wilfully suppress'd,Or left half utter'd. This you must endure,And more, if you attend the fish-market. —Anon.
The general of an army is at leastA thousand times more easy of access,And you may get an answer quicker tooThan from these cursed fishmongers: ask themThe price of their commodity, they holdA wilful silence, and look down with shame,Like Telephus; with reason good; for theyAre, one and all, without exception,A set of precious scoundrels. Speak to one,He'll measure you from top to toe, then lookUpon his fish, but still no answer give.Turn o'er a polypus, and ask anotherThe price, he soon begins to swell and chafe,And mutters out half-words between his teeth,But nothing so distinct that you may learnHis real meaning—so many oboli;But then the number you are still to guess,The syllable is wilfully suppress'd,Or left half utter'd. This you must endure,And more, if you attend the fish-market. —Anon.
The general of an army is at leastA thousand times more easy of access,And you may get an answer quicker tooThan from these cursed fishmongers: ask themThe price of their commodity, they holdA wilful silence, and look down with shame,Like Telephus; with reason good; for theyAre, one and all, without exception,A set of precious scoundrels. Speak to one,He'll measure you from top to toe, then lookUpon his fish, but still no answer give.Turn o'er a polypus, and ask anotherThe price, he soon begins to swell and chafe,And mutters out half-words between his teeth,But nothing so distinct that you may learnHis real meaning—so many oboli;But then the number you are still to guess,The syllable is wilfully suppress'd,Or left half utter'd. This you must endure,And more, if you attend the fish-market. —Anon.
The general of an army is at least
A thousand times more easy of access,
And you may get an answer quicker too
Than from these cursed fishmongers: ask them
The price of their commodity, they hold
A wilful silence, and look down with shame,
Like Telephus; with reason good; for they
Are, one and all, without exception,
A set of precious scoundrels. Speak to one,
He'll measure you from top to toe, then look
Upon his fish, but still no answer give.
Turn o'er a polypus, and ask another
The price, he soon begins to swell and chafe,
And mutters out half-words between his teeth,
But nothing so distinct that you may learn
His real meaning—so many oboli;
But then the number you are still to guess,
The syllable is wilfully suppress'd,
Or left half utter'd. This you must endure,
And more, if you attend the fish-market. —Anon.
The same.
Ten thousand times more easy 'tis to gainAdmission to a haughty general's tent,And have discourse of him, than in the marketAudience to get of a cursed fishmonger.If you draw near and say, How much, my friend,Coststhisorthat?—No answer. Deaf you thinkThe rogue must be, or stupid; for he heeds notA syllable you say, but o'er his fishBends silently, like Telephos (and with good reason,For his whole race he knows are cut-throats all).Another minding not, or else not hearing,Pulls by the legs a polypus. A thirdWith saucy carelessness replies: "Four oboli,That's just the price. For this no less than eight.Take it or leave it!" —J. A. St. John.
Ten thousand times more easy 'tis to gainAdmission to a haughty general's tent,And have discourse of him, than in the marketAudience to get of a cursed fishmonger.If you draw near and say, How much, my friend,Coststhisorthat?—No answer. Deaf you thinkThe rogue must be, or stupid; for he heeds notA syllable you say, but o'er his fishBends silently, like Telephos (and with good reason,For his whole race he knows are cut-throats all).Another minding not, or else not hearing,Pulls by the legs a polypus. A thirdWith saucy carelessness replies: "Four oboli,That's just the price. For this no less than eight.Take it or leave it!" —J. A. St. John.
Ten thousand times more easy 'tis to gainAdmission to a haughty general's tent,And have discourse of him, than in the marketAudience to get of a cursed fishmonger.If you draw near and say, How much, my friend,Coststhisorthat?—No answer. Deaf you thinkThe rogue must be, or stupid; for he heeds notA syllable you say, but o'er his fishBends silently, like Telephos (and with good reason,For his whole race he knows are cut-throats all).Another minding not, or else not hearing,Pulls by the legs a polypus. A thirdWith saucy carelessness replies: "Four oboli,That's just the price. For this no less than eight.Take it or leave it!" —J. A. St. John.
Ten thousand times more easy 'tis to gainAdmission to a haughty general's tent,And have discourse of him, than in the marketAudience to get of a cursed fishmonger.If you draw near and say, How much, my friend,Coststhisorthat?—No answer. Deaf you thinkThe rogue must be, or stupid; for he heeds notA syllable you say, but o'er his fishBends silently, like Telephos (and with good reason,For his whole race he knows are cut-throats all).Another minding not, or else not hearing,Pulls by the legs a polypus. A thirdWith saucy carelessness replies: "Four oboli,That's just the price. For this no less than eight.Take it or leave it!" —J. A. St. John.
Ten thousand times more easy 'tis to gain
Admission to a haughty general's tent,
And have discourse of him, than in the market
Audience to get of a cursed fishmonger.
If you draw near and say, How much, my friend,
Coststhisorthat?—No answer. Deaf you think
The rogue must be, or stupid; for he heeds not
A syllable you say, but o'er his fish
Bends silently, like Telephos (and with good reason,
For his whole race he knows are cut-throats all).
Another minding not, or else not hearing,
Pulls by the legs a polypus. A third
With saucy carelessness replies: "Four oboli,
That's just the price. For this no less than eight.
Take it or leave it!" —J. A. St. John.
Alexis.(Book vi. § 5, p. 356.)
When our victorious gen'rals knit their brows,Assume a higher tone and loftier gaitThan common men, it scarcely moves my wonder—Indeed 'tis natural that the commonwealthShould give to public virtue just rewards—They who have risk'd their lives to serve the stateDeserve its highest honours in return,Place and precedence too above their fellows:But I am choked with rage when I beholdThese saucy fishmongers assume such airs,Now throw their eyes disdainful down, and nowLift their arch'd brows and wrinkle up their fronts—"Say, at what price you sell this brace of mullets?""Ten oboli," they answer. "Sure you joke;Ten oboli indeed! will you take eight?""Yes, if you choose but one."—"Come, come, be serious,Nor trifle with your betters thus."—"Pass on,And take your custom elsewhere." 'Tis enoughTo move our bile to hear such insolence.—Anon.
When our victorious gen'rals knit their brows,Assume a higher tone and loftier gaitThan common men, it scarcely moves my wonder—Indeed 'tis natural that the commonwealthShould give to public virtue just rewards—They who have risk'd their lives to serve the stateDeserve its highest honours in return,Place and precedence too above their fellows:But I am choked with rage when I beholdThese saucy fishmongers assume such airs,Now throw their eyes disdainful down, and nowLift their arch'd brows and wrinkle up their fronts—"Say, at what price you sell this brace of mullets?""Ten oboli," they answer. "Sure you joke;Ten oboli indeed! will you take eight?""Yes, if you choose but one."—"Come, come, be serious,Nor trifle with your betters thus."—"Pass on,And take your custom elsewhere." 'Tis enoughTo move our bile to hear such insolence.—Anon.
When our victorious gen'rals knit their brows,Assume a higher tone and loftier gaitThan common men, it scarcely moves my wonder—Indeed 'tis natural that the commonwealthShould give to public virtue just rewards—They who have risk'd their lives to serve the stateDeserve its highest honours in return,Place and precedence too above their fellows:But I am choked with rage when I beholdThese saucy fishmongers assume such airs,Now throw their eyes disdainful down, and nowLift their arch'd brows and wrinkle up their fronts—"Say, at what price you sell this brace of mullets?""Ten oboli," they answer. "Sure you joke;Ten oboli indeed! will you take eight?""Yes, if you choose but one."—"Come, come, be serious,Nor trifle with your betters thus."—"Pass on,And take your custom elsewhere." 'Tis enoughTo move our bile to hear such insolence.—Anon.
When our victorious gen'rals knit their brows,Assume a higher tone and loftier gaitThan common men, it scarcely moves my wonder—Indeed 'tis natural that the commonwealthShould give to public virtue just rewards—They who have risk'd their lives to serve the stateDeserve its highest honours in return,Place and precedence too above their fellows:But I am choked with rage when I beholdThese saucy fishmongers assume such airs,Now throw their eyes disdainful down, and nowLift their arch'd brows and wrinkle up their fronts—"Say, at what price you sell this brace of mullets?""Ten oboli," they answer. "Sure you joke;Ten oboli indeed! will you take eight?""Yes, if you choose but one."—"Come, come, be serious,Nor trifle with your betters thus."—"Pass on,And take your custom elsewhere." 'Tis enoughTo move our bile to hear such insolence.—Anon.
When our victorious gen'rals knit their brows,
Assume a higher tone and loftier gait
Than common men, it scarcely moves my wonder—
Indeed 'tis natural that the commonwealth
Should give to public virtue just rewards—
They who have risk'd their lives to serve the state
Deserve its highest honours in return,
Place and precedence too above their fellows:
But I am choked with rage when I behold
These saucy fishmongers assume such airs,
Now throw their eyes disdainful down, and now
Lift their arch'd brows and wrinkle up their fronts—
"Say, at what price you sell this brace of mullets?"
"Ten oboli," they answer. "Sure you joke;
Ten oboli indeed! will you take eight?"
"Yes, if you choose but one."—"Come, come, be serious,
Nor trifle with your betters thus."—"Pass on,
And take your custom elsewhere." 'Tis enough
To move our bile to hear such insolence.—Anon.
The same.
However, this is still endurable.But when a paltry fishfag will look big,Cast down his eyes affectedly, or bendHis eyebrows upwards like a full-strain'd bow,I burst with rage. Demand what price he asksFor—say two mullets; and he answers straight"Ten obols."—"Ten? That's dear: will you take eight?""Yes, if one fish will serve you."—"Friend, no jokes;I am no subject for your mirth."—"Pass on, Sir!And buy elsewhere."—Now tell me, is not thisBitterer than gall?—J. A. St. John.
However, this is still endurable.But when a paltry fishfag will look big,Cast down his eyes affectedly, or bendHis eyebrows upwards like a full-strain'd bow,I burst with rage. Demand what price he asksFor—say two mullets; and he answers straight"Ten obols."—"Ten? That's dear: will you take eight?""Yes, if one fish will serve you."—"Friend, no jokes;I am no subject for your mirth."—"Pass on, Sir!And buy elsewhere."—Now tell me, is not thisBitterer than gall?—J. A. St. John.
However, this is still endurable.But when a paltry fishfag will look big,Cast down his eyes affectedly, or bendHis eyebrows upwards like a full-strain'd bow,I burst with rage. Demand what price he asksFor—say two mullets; and he answers straight"Ten obols."—"Ten? That's dear: will you take eight?""Yes, if one fish will serve you."—"Friend, no jokes;I am no subject for your mirth."—"Pass on, Sir!And buy elsewhere."—Now tell me, is not thisBitterer than gall?—J. A. St. John.
However, this is still endurable.But when a paltry fishfag will look big,Cast down his eyes affectedly, or bendHis eyebrows upwards like a full-strain'd bow,I burst with rage. Demand what price he asksFor—say two mullets; and he answers straight"Ten obols."—"Ten? That's dear: will you take eight?""Yes, if one fish will serve you."—"Friend, no jokes;I am no subject for your mirth."—"Pass on, Sir!And buy elsewhere."—Now tell me, is not thisBitterer than gall?—J. A. St. John.
However, this is still endurable.
But when a paltry fishfag will look big,
Cast down his eyes affectedly, or bend
His eyebrows upwards like a full-strain'd bow,
I burst with rage. Demand what price he asks
For—say two mullets; and he answers straight
"Ten obols."—"Ten? That's dear: will you take eight?"
"Yes, if one fish will serve you."—"Friend, no jokes;
I am no subject for your mirth."—"Pass on, Sir!
And buy elsewhere."—Now tell me, is not this
Bitterer than gall?—J. A. St. John.
Diphilus.(Book vi. §6, p. 356.)
I once believed the fishmongers at AthensWere rogues beyond all others. 'Tis not so;The tribe are all the same, go where you will,Deceitful, avaricious, plotting knaves,And rav'nous as wild-beasts. But we have oneExceeds the rest in baseness, and the wretchPretends that he has let his hair grow longIn rev'rence to the gods. The varlet lies.He bears the marks of justice on his forehead,Which his locks hide, and therefore they are long.Accost him thus—"What ask you for that pike?""Ten oboli," he answers—not a wordAbout the currency—put down the cash,He then objects, and tells you that he meantThe money of Ægina. If there's leftA balance in his hands, he'll pay you downIn Attic oboli, and thus securesA double profit by the exchange of both.—Anon.
I once believed the fishmongers at AthensWere rogues beyond all others. 'Tis not so;The tribe are all the same, go where you will,Deceitful, avaricious, plotting knaves,And rav'nous as wild-beasts. But we have oneExceeds the rest in baseness, and the wretchPretends that he has let his hair grow longIn rev'rence to the gods. The varlet lies.He bears the marks of justice on his forehead,Which his locks hide, and therefore they are long.Accost him thus—"What ask you for that pike?""Ten oboli," he answers—not a wordAbout the currency—put down the cash,He then objects, and tells you that he meantThe money of Ægina. If there's leftA balance in his hands, he'll pay you downIn Attic oboli, and thus securesA double profit by the exchange of both.—Anon.
I once believed the fishmongers at AthensWere rogues beyond all others. 'Tis not so;The tribe are all the same, go where you will,Deceitful, avaricious, plotting knaves,And rav'nous as wild-beasts. But we have oneExceeds the rest in baseness, and the wretchPretends that he has let his hair grow longIn rev'rence to the gods. The varlet lies.He bears the marks of justice on his forehead,Which his locks hide, and therefore they are long.Accost him thus—"What ask you for that pike?""Ten oboli," he answers—not a wordAbout the currency—put down the cash,He then objects, and tells you that he meantThe money of Ægina. If there's leftA balance in his hands, he'll pay you downIn Attic oboli, and thus securesA double profit by the exchange of both.—Anon.
I once believed the fishmongers at AthensWere rogues beyond all others. 'Tis not so;The tribe are all the same, go where you will,Deceitful, avaricious, plotting knaves,And rav'nous as wild-beasts. But we have oneExceeds the rest in baseness, and the wretchPretends that he has let his hair grow longIn rev'rence to the gods. The varlet lies.He bears the marks of justice on his forehead,Which his locks hide, and therefore they are long.Accost him thus—"What ask you for that pike?""Ten oboli," he answers—not a wordAbout the currency—put down the cash,He then objects, and tells you that he meantThe money of Ægina. If there's leftA balance in his hands, he'll pay you downIn Attic oboli, and thus securesA double profit by the exchange of both.—Anon.
I once believed the fishmongers at Athens
Were rogues beyond all others. 'Tis not so;
The tribe are all the same, go where you will,
Deceitful, avaricious, plotting knaves,
And rav'nous as wild-beasts. But we have one
Exceeds the rest in baseness, and the wretch
Pretends that he has let his hair grow long
In rev'rence to the gods. The varlet lies.
He bears the marks of justice on his forehead,
Which his locks hide, and therefore they are long.
Accost him thus—"What ask you for that pike?"
"Ten oboli," he answers—not a word
About the currency—put down the cash,
He then objects, and tells you that he meant
The money of Ægina. If there's left
A balance in his hands, he'll pay you down
In Attic oboli, and thus secures
A double profit by the exchange of both.—Anon.
The same.
Troth, in my greener days I had some notionThat here at Athens only, rogues sold fish;But everywhere, it seems, like wolf or foxThe race is treacherous by nature found.However, we have one scamp in the agoraWho beats all others hollow. On his headA most portentous fell of hair nods thickAnd shades his brow. Observing your surprise,He has his reasons pat; it grows forsoothTo form, when shorn, an offering to some god!But that's a feint; 'tis but to hide the scarsLeft by the branding-iron upon his forehead.But, passing that, you ask perchance the priceOf a sea-wolf—"Ten oboli"—very good.You count the money. "Oh, not those," he cries,"Æginetan I meant." Still you comply.But if you trust him with a larger piece,And there be change to give; mark how the knaveNow counts in Attic coin, and thus achievesA two-fold robbery in the same transaction! —J. A. St. John.
Troth, in my greener days I had some notionThat here at Athens only, rogues sold fish;But everywhere, it seems, like wolf or foxThe race is treacherous by nature found.However, we have one scamp in the agoraWho beats all others hollow. On his headA most portentous fell of hair nods thickAnd shades his brow. Observing your surprise,He has his reasons pat; it grows forsoothTo form, when shorn, an offering to some god!But that's a feint; 'tis but to hide the scarsLeft by the branding-iron upon his forehead.But, passing that, you ask perchance the priceOf a sea-wolf—"Ten oboli"—very good.You count the money. "Oh, not those," he cries,"Æginetan I meant." Still you comply.But if you trust him with a larger piece,And there be change to give; mark how the knaveNow counts in Attic coin, and thus achievesA two-fold robbery in the same transaction! —J. A. St. John.
Troth, in my greener days I had some notionThat here at Athens only, rogues sold fish;But everywhere, it seems, like wolf or foxThe race is treacherous by nature found.However, we have one scamp in the agoraWho beats all others hollow. On his headA most portentous fell of hair nods thickAnd shades his brow. Observing your surprise,He has his reasons pat; it grows forsoothTo form, when shorn, an offering to some god!But that's a feint; 'tis but to hide the scarsLeft by the branding-iron upon his forehead.But, passing that, you ask perchance the priceOf a sea-wolf—"Ten oboli"—very good.You count the money. "Oh, not those," he cries,"Æginetan I meant." Still you comply.But if you trust him with a larger piece,And there be change to give; mark how the knaveNow counts in Attic coin, and thus achievesA two-fold robbery in the same transaction! —J. A. St. John.
Troth, in my greener days I had some notionThat here at Athens only, rogues sold fish;But everywhere, it seems, like wolf or foxThe race is treacherous by nature found.However, we have one scamp in the agoraWho beats all others hollow. On his headA most portentous fell of hair nods thickAnd shades his brow. Observing your surprise,He has his reasons pat; it grows forsoothTo form, when shorn, an offering to some god!But that's a feint; 'tis but to hide the scarsLeft by the branding-iron upon his forehead.But, passing that, you ask perchance the priceOf a sea-wolf—"Ten oboli"—very good.You count the money. "Oh, not those," he cries,"Æginetan I meant." Still you comply.But if you trust him with a larger piece,And there be change to give; mark how the knaveNow counts in Attic coin, and thus achievesA two-fold robbery in the same transaction! —J. A. St. John.
Troth, in my greener days I had some notion
That here at Athens only, rogues sold fish;
But everywhere, it seems, like wolf or fox
The race is treacherous by nature found.
However, we have one scamp in the agora
Who beats all others hollow. On his head
A most portentous fell of hair nods thick
And shades his brow. Observing your surprise,
He has his reasons pat; it grows forsooth
To form, when shorn, an offering to some god!
But that's a feint; 'tis but to hide the scars
Left by the branding-iron upon his forehead.
But, passing that, you ask perchance the price
Of a sea-wolf—"Ten oboli"—very good.
You count the money. "Oh, not those," he cries,
"Æginetan I meant." Still you comply.
But if you trust him with a larger piece,
And there be change to give; mark how the knave
Now counts in Attic coin, and thus achieves
A two-fold robbery in the same transaction! —J. A. St. John.
Xenarchus.(Book vi. § 6, p. 357.)
Poets indeed! I should be glad to knowOf what they have to boast. Invention—no!They invent nothing, but they pilfer much,Change and invert the order, and pretendTo pass it off for new. But fishmongersAre fertile in resources, they excelAll our philosophers in ready witAnd sterling impudence. The law forbids,And strictly too, to water their stale fish—How do they manage to evade the fine?Why thus—when one of them perceives the boardBegins to be offensive, and the fishLook dry and change their colour, he beginsA preconcerted quarrel with his neighbour.They come to blows;—he soon affects to beMost desperately beaten, and falls down,As if unable to support himself,Gasping for breath;—another, who the while(Knowing the secret) was prepared to act,Seizes a jar of water, aptly placed,And scatters a few drops upon his friend,Then empties the whole vessel on the fish,Which makes them look so fresh that you would swearThey were just taken from the sea, —Anon.
Poets indeed! I should be glad to knowOf what they have to boast. Invention—no!They invent nothing, but they pilfer much,Change and invert the order, and pretendTo pass it off for new. But fishmongersAre fertile in resources, they excelAll our philosophers in ready witAnd sterling impudence. The law forbids,And strictly too, to water their stale fish—How do they manage to evade the fine?Why thus—when one of them perceives the boardBegins to be offensive, and the fishLook dry and change their colour, he beginsA preconcerted quarrel with his neighbour.They come to blows;—he soon affects to beMost desperately beaten, and falls down,As if unable to support himself,Gasping for breath;—another, who the while(Knowing the secret) was prepared to act,Seizes a jar of water, aptly placed,And scatters a few drops upon his friend,Then empties the whole vessel on the fish,Which makes them look so fresh that you would swearThey were just taken from the sea, —Anon.
Poets indeed! I should be glad to knowOf what they have to boast. Invention—no!They invent nothing, but they pilfer much,Change and invert the order, and pretendTo pass it off for new. But fishmongersAre fertile in resources, they excelAll our philosophers in ready witAnd sterling impudence. The law forbids,And strictly too, to water their stale fish—How do they manage to evade the fine?Why thus—when one of them perceives the boardBegins to be offensive, and the fishLook dry and change their colour, he beginsA preconcerted quarrel with his neighbour.They come to blows;—he soon affects to beMost desperately beaten, and falls down,As if unable to support himself,Gasping for breath;—another, who the while(Knowing the secret) was prepared to act,Seizes a jar of water, aptly placed,And scatters a few drops upon his friend,Then empties the whole vessel on the fish,Which makes them look so fresh that you would swearThey were just taken from the sea, —Anon.
Poets indeed! I should be glad to knowOf what they have to boast. Invention—no!They invent nothing, but they pilfer much,Change and invert the order, and pretendTo pass it off for new. But fishmongersAre fertile in resources, they excelAll our philosophers in ready witAnd sterling impudence. The law forbids,And strictly too, to water their stale fish—How do they manage to evade the fine?Why thus—when one of them perceives the boardBegins to be offensive, and the fishLook dry and change their colour, he beginsA preconcerted quarrel with his neighbour.They come to blows;—he soon affects to beMost desperately beaten, and falls down,As if unable to support himself,Gasping for breath;—another, who the while(Knowing the secret) was prepared to act,Seizes a jar of water, aptly placed,And scatters a few drops upon his friend,Then empties the whole vessel on the fish,Which makes them look so fresh that you would swearThey were just taken from the sea, —Anon.
Poets indeed! I should be glad to know
Of what they have to boast. Invention—no!
They invent nothing, but they pilfer much,
Change and invert the order, and pretend
To pass it off for new. But fishmongers
Are fertile in resources, they excel
All our philosophers in ready wit
And sterling impudence. The law forbids,
And strictly too, to water their stale fish—
How do they manage to evade the fine?
Why thus—when one of them perceives the board
Begins to be offensive, and the fish
Look dry and change their colour, he begins
A preconcerted quarrel with his neighbour.
They come to blows;—he soon affects to be
Most desperately beaten, and falls down,
As if unable to support himself,
Gasping for breath;—another, who the while
(Knowing the secret) was prepared to act,
Seizes a jar of water, aptly placed,
And scatters a few drops upon his friend,
Then empties the whole vessel on the fish,
Which makes them look so fresh that you would swear
They were just taken from the sea, —Anon.
The same.
Commend me for invention to the rogueWho sells fish in the agora. He knows,—In fact there's no mistaking,—that the lawClearly and formally forbids the trickOf reconciling stale fish to the noseBy constant watering. But if some poor wightDetect him in the fact, forthwith he picksA quarrel, and provokes his man to blows.He wheels meanwhile about his fish, looks sharpTo catch the nick of time, reels, feigns a hurt:And prostrate falls, just in the right position.A friend placed there on purpose, snatches upA pot of water, sprinkles a drop or two,For form's sake, on his face, but by mistake,As you must sure believe, pours all the restFull on the fish, so that almost you mightConsider them fresh caught.—J. A. St. John.
Commend me for invention to the rogueWho sells fish in the agora. He knows,—In fact there's no mistaking,—that the lawClearly and formally forbids the trickOf reconciling stale fish to the noseBy constant watering. But if some poor wightDetect him in the fact, forthwith he picksA quarrel, and provokes his man to blows.He wheels meanwhile about his fish, looks sharpTo catch the nick of time, reels, feigns a hurt:And prostrate falls, just in the right position.A friend placed there on purpose, snatches upA pot of water, sprinkles a drop or two,For form's sake, on his face, but by mistake,As you must sure believe, pours all the restFull on the fish, so that almost you mightConsider them fresh caught.—J. A. St. John.
Commend me for invention to the rogueWho sells fish in the agora. He knows,—In fact there's no mistaking,—that the lawClearly and formally forbids the trickOf reconciling stale fish to the noseBy constant watering. But if some poor wightDetect him in the fact, forthwith he picksA quarrel, and provokes his man to blows.He wheels meanwhile about his fish, looks sharpTo catch the nick of time, reels, feigns a hurt:And prostrate falls, just in the right position.A friend placed there on purpose, snatches upA pot of water, sprinkles a drop or two,For form's sake, on his face, but by mistake,As you must sure believe, pours all the restFull on the fish, so that almost you mightConsider them fresh caught.—J. A. St. John.
Commend me for invention to the rogueWho sells fish in the agora. He knows,—In fact there's no mistaking,—that the lawClearly and formally forbids the trickOf reconciling stale fish to the noseBy constant watering. But if some poor wightDetect him in the fact, forthwith he picksA quarrel, and provokes his man to blows.He wheels meanwhile about his fish, looks sharpTo catch the nick of time, reels, feigns a hurt:And prostrate falls, just in the right position.A friend placed there on purpose, snatches upA pot of water, sprinkles a drop or two,For form's sake, on his face, but by mistake,As you must sure believe, pours all the restFull on the fish, so that almost you mightConsider them fresh caught.—J. A. St. John.
Commend me for invention to the rogue
Who sells fish in the agora. He knows,—
In fact there's no mistaking,—that the law
Clearly and formally forbids the trick
Of reconciling stale fish to the nose
By constant watering. But if some poor wight
Detect him in the fact, forthwith he picks
A quarrel, and provokes his man to blows.
He wheels meanwhile about his fish, looks sharp
To catch the nick of time, reels, feigns a hurt:
And prostrate falls, just in the right position.
A friend placed there on purpose, snatches up
A pot of water, sprinkles a drop or two,
For form's sake, on his face, but by mistake,
As you must sure believe, pours all the rest
Full on the fish, so that almost you might
Consider them fresh caught.—J. A. St. John.
Antiphanes.(Book vi. § 7, p. 357.)
What miserable wretched things are fish!They are not only doom'd to death, to beDevour'd, and buried in the greedy mawOf some voracious glutton, but the knavesWho sell them leave them on their board to rot,And perish by degrees, till having foundSome purblind customer, they pass to himTheir dead and putrid carcases; but he,Returning home, begins to nose his bargain,And soon disgusted, casts them out with scorn.—Anon.
What miserable wretched things are fish!They are not only doom'd to death, to beDevour'd, and buried in the greedy mawOf some voracious glutton, but the knavesWho sell them leave them on their board to rot,And perish by degrees, till having foundSome purblind customer, they pass to himTheir dead and putrid carcases; but he,Returning home, begins to nose his bargain,And soon disgusted, casts them out with scorn.—Anon.
What miserable wretched things are fish!They are not only doom'd to death, to beDevour'd, and buried in the greedy mawOf some voracious glutton, but the knavesWho sell them leave them on their board to rot,And perish by degrees, till having foundSome purblind customer, they pass to himTheir dead and putrid carcases; but he,Returning home, begins to nose his bargain,And soon disgusted, casts them out with scorn.—Anon.
What miserable wretched things are fish!They are not only doom'd to death, to beDevour'd, and buried in the greedy mawOf some voracious glutton, but the knavesWho sell them leave them on their board to rot,And perish by degrees, till having foundSome purblind customer, they pass to himTheir dead and putrid carcases; but he,Returning home, begins to nose his bargain,And soon disgusted, casts them out with scorn.—Anon.
What miserable wretched things are fish!
They are not only doom'd to death, to be
Devour'd, and buried in the greedy maw
Of some voracious glutton, but the knaves
Who sell them leave them on their board to rot,
And perish by degrees, till having found
Some purblind customer, they pass to him
Their dead and putrid carcases; but he,
Returning home, begins to nose his bargain,
And soon disgusted, casts them out with scorn.—Anon.
Alexis.(Book vi. § 8, p. 358.)
The rich Aristonicus was a wiseAnd prudent governor; he made a lawTo this intent, that every fishmonger,Having once fix'd his price, if after thatHe varied, or took less, he was at onceThrown into prison, that the punishmentDue to his crimes, still hanging o'er his head,Might be a check on his rapacity,And make him ask a just and honest price,And carry home his stale commodities.This was a prudent law, and so enforced,That youth or age might safely go to marketAnd bring home what was good at a fair price. —Anon.
The rich Aristonicus was a wiseAnd prudent governor; he made a lawTo this intent, that every fishmonger,Having once fix'd his price, if after thatHe varied, or took less, he was at onceThrown into prison, that the punishmentDue to his crimes, still hanging o'er his head,Might be a check on his rapacity,And make him ask a just and honest price,And carry home his stale commodities.This was a prudent law, and so enforced,That youth or age might safely go to marketAnd bring home what was good at a fair price. —Anon.
The rich Aristonicus was a wiseAnd prudent governor; he made a lawTo this intent, that every fishmonger,Having once fix'd his price, if after thatHe varied, or took less, he was at onceThrown into prison, that the punishmentDue to his crimes, still hanging o'er his head,Might be a check on his rapacity,And make him ask a just and honest price,And carry home his stale commodities.This was a prudent law, and so enforced,That youth or age might safely go to marketAnd bring home what was good at a fair price. —Anon.
The rich Aristonicus was a wiseAnd prudent governor; he made a lawTo this intent, that every fishmonger,Having once fix'd his price, if after thatHe varied, or took less, he was at onceThrown into prison, that the punishmentDue to his crimes, still hanging o'er his head,Might be a check on his rapacity,And make him ask a just and honest price,And carry home his stale commodities.This was a prudent law, and so enforced,That youth or age might safely go to marketAnd bring home what was good at a fair price. —Anon.
The rich Aristonicus was a wise
And prudent governor; he made a law
To this intent, that every fishmonger,
Having once fix'd his price, if after that
He varied, or took less, he was at once
Thrown into prison, that the punishment
Due to his crimes, still hanging o'er his head,
Might be a check on his rapacity,
And make him ask a just and honest price,
And carry home his stale commodities.
This was a prudent law, and so enforced,
That youth or age might safely go to market
And bring home what was good at a fair price. —Anon.
Alexis.(Book VI. § 10, p. 359.)
I still maintain that fish do hold with men,Living or dead, perpetual enmity.For instance, now, a ship is overset,As sometimes it may happen,—the poor wretchesWho might escape the dangers of the seaAre swallow'd quick by some voracious fish.If, on the other hand, the fishermenEnclose the fish, and bring them safe to shore,Dead as they are they ruin those who buy them,For they are sold for such enormous sumsThat our whole fortune hangs upon the purchase,And he who pays the price becomes a beggar.—Anon.
I still maintain that fish do hold with men,Living or dead, perpetual enmity.For instance, now, a ship is overset,As sometimes it may happen,—the poor wretchesWho might escape the dangers of the seaAre swallow'd quick by some voracious fish.If, on the other hand, the fishermenEnclose the fish, and bring them safe to shore,Dead as they are they ruin those who buy them,For they are sold for such enormous sumsThat our whole fortune hangs upon the purchase,And he who pays the price becomes a beggar.—Anon.
I still maintain that fish do hold with men,Living or dead, perpetual enmity.For instance, now, a ship is overset,As sometimes it may happen,—the poor wretchesWho might escape the dangers of the seaAre swallow'd quick by some voracious fish.If, on the other hand, the fishermenEnclose the fish, and bring them safe to shore,Dead as they are they ruin those who buy them,For they are sold for such enormous sumsThat our whole fortune hangs upon the purchase,And he who pays the price becomes a beggar.—Anon.
I still maintain that fish do hold with men,Living or dead, perpetual enmity.For instance, now, a ship is overset,As sometimes it may happen,—the poor wretchesWho might escape the dangers of the seaAre swallow'd quick by some voracious fish.If, on the other hand, the fishermenEnclose the fish, and bring them safe to shore,Dead as they are they ruin those who buy them,For they are sold for such enormous sumsThat our whole fortune hangs upon the purchase,And he who pays the price becomes a beggar.—Anon.
I still maintain that fish do hold with men,
Living or dead, perpetual enmity.
For instance, now, a ship is overset,
As sometimes it may happen,—the poor wretches
Who might escape the dangers of the sea
Are swallow'd quick by some voracious fish.
If, on the other hand, the fishermen
Enclose the fish, and bring them safe to shore,
Dead as they are they ruin those who buy them,
For they are sold for such enormous sums
That our whole fortune hangs upon the purchase,
And he who pays the price becomes a beggar.—Anon.
From the same.(Book vi. § 12, p. 359.)
If one that's poor, and scarcely has withalTo clothe and feed him, shall at once buy fish,And pay the money down upon the board,Be sure that fellow is a rogue, and livesBy depredation and nocturnal plunder.Let him who has been robb'd by night, attendThe fish-market at early dawn, and whenHe sees a young and needy wretch appear,Bargain with Micion for the choicest eels,And pay the money, seize the caitiff straight,And drag him to the prison without fear.—Anon.
If one that's poor, and scarcely has withalTo clothe and feed him, shall at once buy fish,And pay the money down upon the board,Be sure that fellow is a rogue, and livesBy depredation and nocturnal plunder.Let him who has been robb'd by night, attendThe fish-market at early dawn, and whenHe sees a young and needy wretch appear,Bargain with Micion for the choicest eels,And pay the money, seize the caitiff straight,And drag him to the prison without fear.—Anon.
If one that's poor, and scarcely has withalTo clothe and feed him, shall at once buy fish,And pay the money down upon the board,Be sure that fellow is a rogue, and livesBy depredation and nocturnal plunder.Let him who has been robb'd by night, attendThe fish-market at early dawn, and whenHe sees a young and needy wretch appear,Bargain with Micion for the choicest eels,And pay the money, seize the caitiff straight,And drag him to the prison without fear.—Anon.
If one that's poor, and scarcely has withalTo clothe and feed him, shall at once buy fish,And pay the money down upon the board,Be sure that fellow is a rogue, and livesBy depredation and nocturnal plunder.Let him who has been robb'd by night, attendThe fish-market at early dawn, and whenHe sees a young and needy wretch appear,Bargain with Micion for the choicest eels,And pay the money, seize the caitiff straight,And drag him to the prison without fear.—Anon.
If one that's poor, and scarcely has withal
To clothe and feed him, shall at once buy fish,
And pay the money down upon the board,
Be sure that fellow is a rogue, and lives
By depredation and nocturnal plunder.
Let him who has been robb'd by night, attend
The fish-market at early dawn, and when
He sees a young and needy wretch appear,
Bargain with Micion for the choicest eels,
And pay the money, seize the caitiff straight,
And drag him to the prison without fear.—Anon.
The same.
Mark you a fellow who, however scantIn all things else, hath still wherewith to purchaseCod, eel, or anchovies, be sure i' the darkHe lies about the road in wait for travellers.If therefore you've been robb'd o'ernight, just goAt peep of dawn to th' agora and seizeThe first athletic, ragged vagabondWho cheapens eels of Mikion. He, be sure,And none but he's the thief: to prison with him! —J. A. St. John.
Mark you a fellow who, however scantIn all things else, hath still wherewith to purchaseCod, eel, or anchovies, be sure i' the darkHe lies about the road in wait for travellers.If therefore you've been robb'd o'ernight, just goAt peep of dawn to th' agora and seizeThe first athletic, ragged vagabondWho cheapens eels of Mikion. He, be sure,And none but he's the thief: to prison with him! —J. A. St. John.
Mark you a fellow who, however scantIn all things else, hath still wherewith to purchaseCod, eel, or anchovies, be sure i' the darkHe lies about the road in wait for travellers.If therefore you've been robb'd o'ernight, just goAt peep of dawn to th' agora and seizeThe first athletic, ragged vagabondWho cheapens eels of Mikion. He, be sure,And none but he's the thief: to prison with him! —J. A. St. John.
Mark you a fellow who, however scantIn all things else, hath still wherewith to purchaseCod, eel, or anchovies, be sure i' the darkHe lies about the road in wait for travellers.If therefore you've been robb'd o'ernight, just goAt peep of dawn to th' agora and seizeThe first athletic, ragged vagabondWho cheapens eels of Mikion. He, be sure,And none but he's the thief: to prison with him! —J. A. St. John.
Mark you a fellow who, however scant
In all things else, hath still wherewith to purchase
Cod, eel, or anchovies, be sure i' the dark
He lies about the road in wait for travellers.
If therefore you've been robb'd o'ernight, just go
At peep of dawn to th' agora and seize
The first athletic, ragged vagabond
Who cheapens eels of Mikion. He, be sure,
And none but he's the thief: to prison with him! —J. A. St. John.
Diphilus.(Book vi. § 12, p. 360.)