Chapter 24

We have a notable good law at Corinth,Where, if an idle fellow outruns reason,Feasting and junketing at furious cost,The sumptuary proctor calls upon him,And thus begins to sift him:â€”You live well,But have you well to live? You squander freely,Have you the wherewithal? Have you the fundFor these out-goings? If you have, go on!If you have not, we'll stop you in good time,Before you outrun honesty; for he,Who lives we know not how, must live by plunder;Either he picks a purse, or robs a house,Or is accomplice with some knavish gang,Or thrusts himself in crowds to play th' Informer,And put his perjured evidence to sale:This a well-order'd city will not suffer:Such vermin we expel.â€”And you do wisely:But what is this to me?â€”Why, this it is:Here we behold you every day at work,Living forsooth! not as your neighbours live,But richly, royally, ye gods!â€”Why, man,We cannot get a fish for love or money,You swallow the whole produce of the sea:You've driven our citizens to browze on cabbage:A sprig of parsley sets them all a-fighting,As at the Isthmian games: if hare or partridge,Or but a simple thrush comes to the market,Quick at the word you snap him. By the gods!Hunt Athens through, you shall not find a featherBut in your kitchen; and for wine, 'tis goldâ€”Not to be purchased: we may drink the ditches. â€”Cumberland.

We have a notable good law at Corinth,

Where, if an idle fellow outruns reason,

Feasting and junketing at furious cost,

The sumptuary proctor calls upon him,

And thus begins to sift him:â€”You live well,

But have you well to live? You squander freely,

Have you the wherewithal? Have you the fund

For these out-goings? If you have, go on!

If you have not, we'll stop you in good time,

Before you outrun honesty; for he,

Who lives we know not how, must live by plunder;

Either he picks a purse, or robs a house,

Or is accomplice with some knavish gang,

Or thrusts himself in crowds to play th' Informer,

And put his perjured evidence to sale:

This a well-order'd city will not suffer:

Such vermin we expel.â€”And you do wisely:

But what is this to me?â€”Why, this it is:

Here we behold you every day at work,

Living forsooth! not as your neighbours live,

But richly, royally, ye gods!â€”Why, man,

We cannot get a fish for love or money,

You swallow the whole produce of the sea:

You've driven our citizens to browze on cabbage:

A sprig of parsley sets them all a-fighting,

As at the Isthmian games: if hare or partridge,

Or but a simple thrush comes to the market,

Quick at the word you snap him. By the gods!

Hunt Athens through, you shall not find a feather

But in your kitchen; and for wine, 'tis goldâ€”

Not to be purchased: we may drink the ditches. â€”Cumberland.

The same.

Wee have in Corinth this good Law in use;If wee see any person keepe great cheere,We make inquirie, Whether he doe worke,Or if he have Revenues coming in?If either, then we say no more of him.But if the Charge exceed his Gaine or Rents,He is forbidden to run on his course:If he continue it, he pays a fine:If he want wherewithal, he is at lastTaken by Sergeants and in prison cast.For to spend much, and never to get ought,Is cause of much disorder in the world.One in the night-time filcheth from the flocks;Another breaks a house or else a shop;A third man gets a share his mouth to stop.To beare a part in this good fellowship,One feignes a suit his neighbor to molest,Another must false witness beare with him:But such a crue we utterly detest,And banish from our citie like the pest. â€”Molle.

Wee have in Corinth this good Law in use;

If wee see any person keepe great cheere,

We make inquirie, Whether he doe worke,

Or if he have Revenues coming in?

If either, then we say no more of him.

But if the Charge exceed his Gaine or Rents,

He is forbidden to run on his course:

If he continue it, he pays a fine:

If he want wherewithal, he is at last

Taken by Sergeants and in prison cast.

For to spend much, and never to get ought,

Is cause of much disorder in the world.

One in the night-time filcheth from the flocks;

Another breaks a house or else a shop;

A third man gets a share his mouth to stop.

To beare a part in this good fellowship,

One feignes a suit his neighbor to molest,

Another must false witness beare with him:

But such a crue we utterly detest,

And banish from our citie like the pest. â€”Molle.

The same.

Believe me, my good friend, such is the lawLong held at Corinth; when we see a manSpending large sums upon the daintiest fish,And living at a great expense, we askThe means by which he can maintain the splendour.If it appears that his possessions yieldA fund proportion'd to this costly charge,'Tis well, he's not molested, and proceedsT' enjoy that kind of life which he approves.But if we find that he exceeds his means,We first admonish him; if he persists,We then proceed to punishment by fine.If one who has no fortune to supplyE'en common wants, lives thus expensively,Him we deliver to the common beadleFor corporal punishment.â€”Anon.

Believe me, my good friend, such is the law

Long held at Corinth; when we see a man

Spending large sums upon the daintiest fish,

And living at a great expense, we ask

The means by which he can maintain the splendour.

If it appears that his possessions yield

A fund proportion'd to this costly charge,

'Tis well, he's not molested, and proceeds

T' enjoy that kind of life which he approves.

But if we find that he exceeds his means,

We first admonish him; if he persists,

We then proceed to punishment by fine.

If one who has no fortune to supply

E'en common wants, lives thus expensively,

Him we deliver to the common beadle

For corporal punishment.â€”Anon.

The same.

We cannot get the smallest fish for money;And for a bunch of parsley we must fight,As 'twere the Isthmian games: then, should a hareMake its appearance, 'tis at once caught up;A partridge or a lark, by Jupiter!We can't so much as see them on the wing,And all on your account: then as for wine,You've raised the price so high we cannot taste it. â€”Anon.

We cannot get the smallest fish for money;

And for a bunch of parsley we must fight,

As 'twere the Isthmian games: then, should a hare

Make its appearance, 'tis at once caught up;

A partridge or a lark, by Jupiter!

We can't so much as see them on the wing,

And all on your account: then as for wine,

You've raised the price so high we cannot taste it. â€”Anon.

Philippides.(Book vi. Â§ 17, p. 363.)

It grieves me much to see the world so changed,And men of worth, ingenious and well-born,Reduced to poverty, while cunning knaves;The very scum of the people, eat their fish,Bought for two oboli, on plates of silver,Weighing at least a mina; a few capers,Not worth three pieces of brass-money, servedIn lordly silver-dish, that weighs, at least,As much as fifteen drachmas. In times pastA little cup presented to the GodsWas thought a splendid offering; but such giftsAre now but seldom seen,â€”and reason good,For 'tis no sooner on the altar placed,Than rogues are watching to purloin it thence. â€”Anon.

It grieves me much to see the world so changed,

And men of worth, ingenious and well-born,

Reduced to poverty, while cunning knaves;

The very scum of the people, eat their fish,

Bought for two oboli, on plates of silver,

Weighing at least a mina; a few capers,

Not worth three pieces of brass-money, served

In lordly silver-dish, that weighs, at least,

As much as fifteen drachmas. In times past

A little cup presented to the Gods

Was thought a splendid offering; but such gifts

Are now but seldom seen,â€”and reason good,

For 'tis no sooner on the altar placed,

Than rogues are watching to purloin it thence. â€”Anon.

Alexis.(Book vi. Â§ 28, p. 372.)

I'm ready, at the slightest call, to supWith those who may think proper to invite me.If there's a wedding in the neighbourhood,I smell it out, nor scruple to be thereSans invitation; then, indeed, I shine,And make a full display of all my wit,'Till the guests shake with laughter; I take careTo tickle well the master of the feast;Should any strive to thwart my purpose, IAt once take fire, and load him with reproachAnd bitter sarcasm; 'till at length, well fed,And having drunk my fill, I stagger home.No nimble link-boy guides my giddy steps,But "through the palpable obscure, I gropeMy uncouth way;" and if by chance I meet,In their nocturnal rounds, the watch, I hail themWith soft and gentle speech; then thank the godsThat I've escaped so well, nor felt the weightOf their hard fists, or their still harder staves.At length, unhurt, I find myself at home,And creep to my poor bed, where gentle sleep,And pleasant dreams, inspired by generous wine,Lock up my senses.â€”Anon.

I'm ready, at the slightest call, to sup

With those who may think proper to invite me.

If there's a wedding in the neighbourhood,

I smell it out, nor scruple to be there

Sans invitation; then, indeed, I shine,

And make a full display of all my wit,

'Till the guests shake with laughter; I take care

To tickle well the master of the feast;

Should any strive to thwart my purpose, I

At once take fire, and load him with reproach

And bitter sarcasm; 'till at length, well fed,

And having drunk my fill, I stagger home.

No nimble link-boy guides my giddy steps,

But "through the palpable obscure, I grope

My uncouth way;" and if by chance I meet,

In their nocturnal rounds, the watch, I hail them

With soft and gentle speech; then thank the gods

That I've escaped so well, nor felt the weight

Of their hard fists, or their still harder staves.

At length, unhurt, I find myself at home,

And creep to my poor bed, where gentle sleep,

And pleasant dreams, inspired by generous wine,

Lock up my senses.â€”Anon.

Diphilus.(Book vi. Â§ 29, p. 372.)

When I'm invited to a great man's board,I do not feast my eyes by looking atThe costly hangings, painted ceiling, orThe rich Corinthian vases, but survey,And watch with curious eye, the curling smokeThat rises from the kitchen. If it comesIn a strong current, straight, direct, and full,I chuckle at the sight, and shake myselfFor very joy; but if, oblique and small,It rises slowly in a scanty volume,I then exclaim, Sad meagre fare for me!A lenten supper, and a bloodless meal.â€”Anon.

When I'm invited to a great man's board,

I do not feast my eyes by looking at

The costly hangings, painted ceiling, or

The rich Corinthian vases, but survey,

And watch with curious eye, the curling smoke

That rises from the kitchen. If it comes

In a strong current, straight, direct, and full,

I chuckle at the sight, and shake myself

For very joy; but if, oblique and small,

It rises slowly in a scanty volume,

I then exclaim, Sad meagre fare for me!

A lenten supper, and a bloodless meal.â€”Anon.

The same.

Makes some rich squireA banquet, and am I among the guests?Mark me: I cast no idle eye of observationOn mouldings or on fretted roof: I deign notWith laudatory breath to ask, if handsFrom Corinth form'd and fashion'd the wine-coolers:These trouble not my cap.â€”I watch and note(And with most deep intensity of vision),What smoke the cook sends up: mounts it me fullAnd with alacrity and perpendicular?All joy and transport I: I crow and clapMy wings for very ecstasy of heart!Does it come sidelong, making wayward angles,Embodied into no consistency?I know the mournful signal well, and straightPrepare me for a bloodless feast of herbs.â€”Mitchell.

Makes some rich squire

A banquet, and am I among the guests?

Mark me: I cast no idle eye of observation

On mouldings or on fretted roof: I deign not

With laudatory breath to ask, if hands

From Corinth form'd and fashion'd the wine-coolers:

These trouble not my cap.â€”I watch and note

(And with most deep intensity of vision),

What smoke the cook sends up: mounts it me full

And with alacrity and perpendicular?

All joy and transport I: I crow and clap

My wings for very ecstasy of heart!

Does it come sidelong, making wayward angles,

Embodied into no consistency?

I know the mournful signal well, and straight

Prepare me for a bloodless feast of herbs.â€”Mitchell.

Eupolis.(Book vi. Â§ 30, p. 373.)

Mark now, and learn of me the thriving artsBy which we parasites contrive to live:Fine rogues we are, my friend, (of that be sure,)And daintily we gull mankind.â€”Observe!First I provide myself a nimble thingTo be my page, a varlet of all crafts;Next two new suits for feasts and gala-days,Which I promote by turns, when I walk forthTo sun myself upon the public square:There, if perchance I spy some rich dull knave,Straight I accost him, do him reverence,And, saunt'ring up and down, with idle chatHold him awhile in play; at every wordWhich his wise worship utters, I stop shortAnd bless myself for wonder; if he venturesOn some vile joke, I blow it to the skies,And hold my sides for laughter.â€”Then to supper,With others of our brotherhood to messIn some night-cellar on our barley-cakes,And club invention for the next day's shift.â€”Cumberland.

Mark now, and learn of me the thriving arts

By which we parasites contrive to live:

Fine rogues we are, my friend, (of that be sure,)

And daintily we gull mankind.â€”Observe!

First I provide myself a nimble thing

To be my page, a varlet of all crafts;

Next two new suits for feasts and gala-days,

Which I promote by turns, when I walk forth

To sun myself upon the public square:

There, if perchance I spy some rich dull knave,

Straight I accost him, do him reverence,

And, saunt'ring up and down, with idle chat

Hold him awhile in play; at every word

Which his wise worship utters, I stop short

And bless myself for wonder; if he ventures

On some vile joke, I blow it to the skies,

And hold my sides for laughter.â€”Then to supper,

With others of our brotherhood to mess

In some night-cellar on our barley-cakes,

And club invention for the next day's shift.â€”Cumberland.

The same.

Of how we live, a sketch I'll give,If you'll attentive be;Of parasites, (we'rethievesby rights,)The flower and chief are we.Now first we've all a page at call,Of whom we're not the owners,But who's a slave to some young brave,Whom we flatter to be donors.Two gala dresses each possesses,And puts them on in turn;As oft as he goes forth to seeWhere he his meal can earn.The Forum I choose, my nets to let loose,It's there that I fish for my dinner;The wealthy young fools I use as my tools,Like a jolly good harden'd old sinner.Whenever I see a fool suited for me,In a trice at his side I appear,And ne'er loose my hold, till by feeding or gold,He has paid for my wants rather dear.If he chance aught to speak, though stupid and weak,Straightway it is praised to the skies;His wit I applaud, treat him as my lord,Win his heart by a good set of lies.Ere comes our meal, my way I feel,My patron's mind I study:And as each knows, we choose all thoseWhose brains are rather muddy.We understand our host's command,To make the table merry;By witty jokes, satiric pokes,To aid the juicy berry.If we're not able, straight from the tableWe're sent, elsewhere to dine;You know poor Acastor incurr'd this disaster,By being too free o'er his wine.A dreadful joke scarce from him broke,When for the slave each roars,To come and fetch th' unhappy wretch,And turn him out of doors.On him was put, like any brute,Round his throat an iron necklace;And he was handed, to be branded,To Å’neus rough and reckless.â€”L. S.

Of how we live, a sketch I'll give,

If you'll attentive be;

Of parasites, (we'rethievesby rights,)

The flower and chief are we.

Now first we've all a page at call,

Of whom we're not the owners,

But who's a slave to some young brave,

Whom we flatter to be donors.

Two gala dresses each possesses,

And puts them on in turn;

As oft as he goes forth to see

Where he his meal can earn.

The Forum I choose, my nets to let loose,

It's there that I fish for my dinner;

The wealthy young fools I use as my tools,

Like a jolly good harden'd old sinner.

Whenever I see a fool suited for me,

In a trice at his side I appear,

And ne'er loose my hold, till by feeding or gold,

He has paid for my wants rather dear.

If he chance aught to speak, though stupid and weak,

Straightway it is praised to the skies;

His wit I applaud, treat him as my lord,

Win his heart by a good set of lies.

Ere comes our meal, my way I feel,

My patron's mind I study:

And as each knows, we choose all those

Whose brains are rather muddy.

We understand our host's command,

To make the table merry;

By witty jokes, satiric pokes,

To aid the juicy berry.

If we're not able, straight from the table

We're sent, elsewhere to dine;

You know poor Acastor incurr'd this disaster,

By being too free o'er his wine.

A dreadful joke scarce from him broke,

When for the slave each roars,

To come and fetch th' unhappy wretch,

And turn him out of doors.

On him was put, like any brute,

Round his throat an iron necklace;

And he was handed, to be branded,

To Å’neus rough and reckless.â€”L. S.

Alexis.(Book vi. Â§ 31, p. 374.)

A.There are two sorts of parasites; the oneOf middle station, like ourselves, who areMuch noticed by the comic poetsâ€”â€”B.Ay,But then the other sort, say, what of them?A.They are of higher rank, and proud pretensions,Provincial governors, who claim respectBy sober and grave conduct; and though sprungFrom th' very dregs o' th' people, keep aloof,Affect authority and state and rule,And pride themselves on manners more severeThan others, on whose beetling brow there sitsAn awful frown, as if they would commandAt least a thousand talentsâ€”all their boast!These Nausinicus, you have seen, and judgeMy meaning rightly.B.I confess I do.A.Yet they all move about one common centre;Their occupations and their ends the same,The sole contention, which shall flatter most.But, as in human life, some are depress'd,Whilst others stand erect on Fortune's wheel,So fares it with these men; while some are raisedTo splendid affluence, and wallow inLuxurious indolence, their fellows starve,Or live on scraps, and beg a scanty pittance,To save their wretched lives.â€”Anon.

A.There are two sorts of parasites; the one

Of middle station, like ourselves, who are

Much noticed by the comic poetsâ€”â€”

B.Ay,

But then the other sort, say, what of them?

A.They are of higher rank, and proud pretensions,

Provincial governors, who claim respect

By sober and grave conduct; and though sprung

From th' very dregs o' th' people, keep aloof,

Affect authority and state and rule,

And pride themselves on manners more severe

Than others, on whose beetling brow there sits

An awful frown, as if they would command

At least a thousand talentsâ€”all their boast!

These Nausinicus, you have seen, and judge

My meaning rightly.

B.I confess I do.

A.Yet they all move about one common centre;

Their occupations and their ends the same,

The sole contention, which shall flatter most.

But, as in human life, some are depress'd,

Whilst others stand erect on Fortune's wheel,

So fares it with these men; while some are raised

To splendid affluence, and wallow in

Luxurious indolence, their fellows starve,

Or live on scraps, and beg a scanty pittance,

To save their wretched lives.â€”Anon.

Timocles.(Book vi. Â§ 32, p. 374.)

Think you that I can hear the parasiteAbused? believe me, no; I know of noneOf greater worth, more useful to the state.Whatever act is grateful to a friend,Who is more ready to stand forth than he?Are you in love, he'll stretch a point to serve you.Whate'er you do, he's ready at your call,To aid and to assist, as 'tis but just,He thinks, to do such grateful service forThe patron who provides his daily meal.And then he speaks so warmly of his friend!You say for this he eats, and drinks scot-free;Well, and what then? what hero or what godWould disapprove a friend on such conditions?But why thus linger out the day, to proveThat parasites are honour'd and esteem'd?Is't not enough, they claim the same rewardThat crowns the victor at the Olympic games,To be supported at the public charge?For wheresoe'er they diet at free cost,That may be justly call'd the Prytaneum.â€”Anon.

Think you that I can hear the parasite

Abused? believe me, no; I know of none

Of greater worth, more useful to the state.

Whatever act is grateful to a friend,

Who is more ready to stand forth than he?

Are you in love, he'll stretch a point to serve you.

Whate'er you do, he's ready at your call,

To aid and to assist, as 'tis but just,

He thinks, to do such grateful service for

The patron who provides his daily meal.

And then he speaks so warmly of his friend!

You say for this he eats, and drinks scot-free;

Well, and what then? what hero or what god

Would disapprove a friend on such conditions?

But why thus linger out the day, to prove

That parasites are honour'd and esteem'd?

Is't not enough, they claim the same reward

That crowns the victor at the Olympic games,

To be supported at the public charge?

For wheresoe'er they diet at free cost,

That may be justly call'd the Prytaneum.â€”Anon.

Antiphanes.(Book vi. Â§ 33, p. 375.)

If duly weigh'd, this will, I think, be foundThe parasite's true state and character,The ready sharer of your life and fortunes.It is against his nature to rejoiceAt the misfortunes of his friendsâ€”his wishIs to see all successful, and at ease;He envies not the rich and the luxurious,But kindly would partake of their excess,And help them to enjoy their better fortune.Ever a steady and a candid friend,Not quarrelsome, morose, or petulant,And knows to keep his passions in due bounds.If you are cheerful, he will laugh aloud;Be amorous, be witty, or what elseShall suit your humour, he will be so too,And valiant, if a dinner's the reward.â€”Anon.

If duly weigh'd, this will, I think, be found

The parasite's true state and character,

The ready sharer of your life and fortunes.

It is against his nature to rejoice

At the misfortunes of his friendsâ€”his wish

Is to see all successful, and at ease;

He envies not the rich and the luxurious,

But kindly would partake of their excess,

And help them to enjoy their better fortune.

Ever a steady and a candid friend,

Not quarrelsome, morose, or petulant,

And knows to keep his passions in due bounds.

If you are cheerful, he will laugh aloud;

Be amorous, be witty, or what else

Shall suit your humour, he will be so too,

And valiant, if a dinner's the reward.â€”Anon.

Aristophon.(Book vi. Â§ 34, p. 376.)

If I'm at once forbid to eat or drink,I'm a Tithymallus or Philippides.If to drink water only, I'm a frogâ€”To feed on leaves and vegetable diet,I am at once a very caterpillarâ€”Forbid the bath, I quarrel not with filthâ€”To spend the winter in the open air,I am a blackbird; if to scorch all day,And jest beneath the hot meridian sun,Then I become a grasshopper to please you;If neither to anoint with fragrant oil,Or even to behold it. I am dustâ€”To walk with naked feet at early dawn,See me a crane; but if forbid at nightTo rest myself and sleep, I am transform'dAt once to th' wakeful night owl.â€”Anon.

If I'm at once forbid to eat or drink,

I'm a Tithymallus or Philippides.

If to drink water only, I'm a frogâ€”

To feed on leaves and vegetable diet,

I am at once a very caterpillarâ€”

Forbid the bath, I quarrel not with filthâ€”

To spend the winter in the open air,

I am a blackbird; if to scorch all day,

And jest beneath the hot meridian sun,

Then I become a grasshopper to please you;

If neither to anoint with fragrant oil,

Or even to behold it. I am dustâ€”

To walk with naked feet at early dawn,

See me a crane; but if forbid at night

To rest myself and sleep, I am transform'd

At once to th' wakeful night owl.â€”Anon.

The same.

So gaunt they seem, that famine never madeOf lank Philippides so mere a shade:Of salted tunny-fish their scanty dole;Their beverage, like the frog's, a standing pool,With now and then a cabbage, at the bestThe leavings of the caterpillar's feast:No comb approaches their dishevell'd hair,To rout the long establish'd myriads there;On the bare ground their bed, nor do they knowA warmer coverlid than serves the crow:Flames the meridian sun without a cloud?They bask like grasshoppers, and chirp as loud:With oil they never even feast their eyes;The luxury of stockings they despise,But bare-foot as the crane still march along,All night in chorus with the screech-owl's song. â€”Cumberland.

So gaunt they seem, that famine never made

Of lank Philippides so mere a shade:

Of salted tunny-fish their scanty dole;

Their beverage, like the frog's, a standing pool,

With now and then a cabbage, at the best

The leavings of the caterpillar's feast:

No comb approaches their dishevell'd hair,

To rout the long establish'd myriads there;

On the bare ground their bed, nor do they know

A warmer coverlid than serves the crow:

Flames the meridian sun without a cloud?

They bask like grasshoppers, and chirp as loud:

With oil they never even feast their eyes;

The luxury of stockings they despise,

But bare-foot as the crane still march along,

All night in chorus with the screech-owl's song. â€”Cumberland.

The same.

For famishment direct, and empty fare,I am your Tithymallus, your Philippides,Close pictured to the life: for water-drinking,Your very frog. To fret, and feed on leeks,Or other garden-stuff, your caterpillarIs a mere fool to me. Would ye have me abjureAll cleansing, all ablution? I'm your manâ€”The loathsom'st scab aliveâ€”nay, filth itself,Sheer, genuine, unsophisticated filth.To brave the winter with his nipping cold,A houseless tenant of the open air,See in me all the ousel. Is't my business,In sultry summer's dry and parched season,To dare the stifling heat, and prate the whileMocking the noontide blaze? I am at onceThe grasshopper: to abhor the mother'd oil?I am the very dust to lick it upAnd blind me to its use: to walk a-morningsBarefoot? the crane: to sleep no wink? the bat. â€”Bailey.

For famishment direct, and empty fare,

I am your Tithymallus, your Philippides,

Close pictured to the life: for water-drinking,

Your very frog. To fret, and feed on leeks,

Or other garden-stuff, your caterpillar

Is a mere fool to me. Would ye have me abjure

All cleansing, all ablution? I'm your manâ€”

The loathsom'st scab aliveâ€”nay, filth itself,

Sheer, genuine, unsophisticated filth.

To brave the winter with his nipping cold,

A houseless tenant of the open air,

See in me all the ousel. Is't my business,

In sultry summer's dry and parched season,

To dare the stifling heat, and prate the while

Mocking the noontide blaze? I am at once

The grasshopper: to abhor the mother'd oil?

I am the very dust to lick it up

And blind me to its use: to walk a-mornings

Barefoot? the crane: to sleep no wink? the bat. â€”Bailey.

The same.

In bearing hunger and in eating nothing,I can assure you, you may reckon meA Tithymallus or Philippides;In drinking water I'm a very frog;In loving thyme and greensâ€”a caterpillar;In hating Bagniosâ€”a lump of dirt;In living out of doors all winter-timeâ€”A blackbird; in enduring sultry heat,And chattering at noonâ€”a grasshopper;In neither using oil, nor seeing itâ€”A cloud of dust; in walking up and downBare-footed at the dawn of dayâ€”a crane;In sleeping not one single jotâ€”a bat.â€”Walsh.

In bearing hunger and in eating nothing,

I can assure you, you may reckon me

A Tithymallus or Philippides;

In drinking water I'm a very frog;

In loving thyme and greensâ€”a caterpillar;

In hating Bagniosâ€”a lump of dirt;

In living out of doors all winter-timeâ€”

A blackbird; in enduring sultry heat,

And chattering at noonâ€”a grasshopper;

In neither using oil, nor seeing itâ€”

A cloud of dust; in walking up and down

Bare-footed at the dawn of dayâ€”a crane;

In sleeping not one single jotâ€”a bat.â€”Walsh.

Eubulus.(Book vi. Â§ 35, p. 376.)

He that invented first the scheme of spongingOn other men for dinner, was a sageOf thorough democratic principles.But may the wretch who asks a friend or strangerTo dine, and then requests he'll pay his club,Be sent without a farthing into exile.â€”Walsh.

He that invented first the scheme of sponging

On other men for dinner, was a sage

Of thorough democratic principles.

But may the wretch who asks a friend or stranger

To dine, and then requests he'll pay his club,

Be sent without a farthing into exile.â€”Walsh.

Diodorus of Sinope.(Book vi. Â§ 36, p. 377.)

I wish to show how highly dignifiedThis office of the parasite was held,How sanction'd by the laws, of originClearly divine; while other useful artsAre but th' inventions of the human mind,This stands preeminent the gift of gods,For Jupiter the friend first practised it.Whatever door was open to receive him,Without distinction, whether rich or poor,He enter'd without bidding; if he sawThe couch well spread, the table well supplied,It was enough, he ate and drank his fill,And then retired well satisfied, but paidNo reckoning to his host. Just so do I.If the door opens, and the board is spread,I step me in, though an unbidden guest,Sit down with silent caution, and take careTo give no trouble to the friend that's near me;When I have eat, and fill'd my skin with wine,Like Jupiter the friend, I take my leave.Thus was the office fair and honourable,As you will freely own, by what succeeds.Our city, which was ever used to payBoth worship and respect to Hercules,When sacrifices were to be prepared,Chose certain parasites t' officiate,In honour of the god, but did not makeThis choice by lot, nor take the first that offer'd,But from the higher ranks, and most esteem'dOf all the citizens, they fix'd on twelve,Of life and manners irreproachable,Selected for this purpose. Thus at lengthThe rich, in imitation of these rites,Adopted the same custom, chose them outFrom th' herd of parasites, such as would suitTheir purpose best, to nourish and protect.Unluckily, they did not fix uponThe best and most respectable, but onSuch wretches as would grossly flatter them,Ready to say or swear to anything;And should their patrons puff their fetid breath,Tainted with onions, or stale horseradish,Full in their faces, they would call't a breezeFrom new-born violets, or sweet-scented roses;And if still fouler air came from them, 'twasA most delicious perfume, and inquiriesFrom whence it was procured.â€”Such practicesHave brought disgrace upon the name and office,And what was honest and respectableIs now become disgraceful and ignoble.â€”Anon.

I wish to show how highly dignified

This office of the parasite was held,

How sanction'd by the laws, of origin

Clearly divine; while other useful arts

Are but th' inventions of the human mind,

This stands preeminent the gift of gods,

For Jupiter the friend first practised it.

Whatever door was open to receive him,

Without distinction, whether rich or poor,

He enter'd without bidding; if he saw

The couch well spread, the table well supplied,

It was enough, he ate and drank his fill,

And then retired well satisfied, but paid

No reckoning to his host. Just so do I.

If the door opens, and the board is spread,

I step me in, though an unbidden guest,

Sit down with silent caution, and take care

To give no trouble to the friend that's near me;

When I have eat, and fill'd my skin with wine,

Like Jupiter the friend, I take my leave.

Thus was the office fair and honourable,

As you will freely own, by what succeeds.

Our city, which was ever used to pay

Both worship and respect to Hercules,

When sacrifices were to be prepared,

Chose certain parasites t' officiate,

In honour of the god, but did not make

This choice by lot, nor take the first that offer'd,

But from the higher ranks, and most esteem'd

Of all the citizens, they fix'd on twelve,

Of life and manners irreproachable,

Selected for this purpose. Thus at length

The rich, in imitation of these rites,

Adopted the same custom, chose them out

From th' herd of parasites, such as would suit

Their purpose best, to nourish and protect.

Unluckily, they did not fix upon

The best and most respectable, but on

Such wretches as would grossly flatter them,

Ready to say or swear to anything;

And should their patrons puff their fetid breath,

Tainted with onions, or stale horseradish,

Full in their faces, they would call't a breeze

From new-born violets, or sweet-scented roses;

And if still fouler air came from them, 'twas

A most delicious perfume, and inquiries

From whence it was procured.â€”Such practices

Have brought disgrace upon the name and office,

And what was honest and respectable

Is now become disgraceful and ignoble.â€”Anon.

The same.

I'd have you better know this trade of ours:'Tis a profession, sirs, to ravish admiration:Its nursing-father is the Law; its birthDerives from heaven. All other trades bear stampOf frail humanity upon them, mix'd,I grant, with show of wisdomâ€”but your parasiteIs sprung from Jove: and tell me, who in heavenIs Jove's compeer? 'Tis he that under nameOf Philian, enters ev'ry mansionâ€”own itWho will, gentle or simple, prince or artisan:Be't room of state or poverty's mean hovel,He stands upon no points:â€”the couch is spread,The table furnish'dâ€”on't a goodly showOf tempting dishes: what should he ask more?He drops into a graceful attitude,Calls like a lord about him, gorges greedilyThe daintiest dish, washes it down with wine,Then bilks his club, and quietly walks home.I too am pieced with him in this respect,And by the god my prudent course is fashion'd.Is there a gala-day, and feast on foot,With open door that offers invitation?In walk I, silence for my only usher:I fall into a chair with sweet composure,(Why should my neighbour's peace be marr'd by noise?)I dip my finger in whate'er's before me,And having feasted ev'ry appetiteUp to a surfeit, I walk home with purseUntouch'dâ€”hath not a god done so before me? â€”Mitchell.

I'd have you better know this trade of ours:

'Tis a profession, sirs, to ravish admiration:

Its nursing-father is the Law; its birth

Derives from heaven. All other trades bear stamp

Of frail humanity upon them, mix'd,

I grant, with show of wisdomâ€”but your parasite

Is sprung from Jove: and tell me, who in heaven

Is Jove's compeer? 'Tis he that under name

Of Philian, enters ev'ry mansionâ€”own it

Who will, gentle or simple, prince or artisan:

Be't room of state or poverty's mean hovel,

He stands upon no points:â€”the couch is spread,

The table furnish'dâ€”on't a goodly show

Of tempting dishes: what should he ask more?

He drops into a graceful attitude,

Calls like a lord about him, gorges greedily

The daintiest dish, washes it down with wine,

Then bilks his club, and quietly walks home.

I too am pieced with him in this respect,

And by the god my prudent course is fashion'd.

Is there a gala-day, and feast on foot,

With open door that offers invitation?

In walk I, silence for my only usher:

I fall into a chair with sweet composure,

(Why should my neighbour's peace be marr'd by noise?)

I dip my finger in whate'er's before me,

And having feasted ev'ry appetite

Up to a surfeit, I walk home with purse

Untouch'dâ€”hath not a god done so before me? â€”Mitchell.

Antiphanes.(Book vi. Â§ 71, p. 404.)

A.You say you've pass'd much of your time in Cyprus.B.All; for the war prevented my departure.A.In what place chiefly, may I ask?B.In Paphos;Where I saw elegance in such perfection,As almost mocks belief.A.Of what kind, pray you?B.Take this for oneâ€”The monarch, when he sups,Is fann'd by living doves.A.You make me curiousHow this is to be done; all other questionsI will put by to be resolved in this.B.There is a juice drawn from a Syrian tree,To which your dove instinctively is weddedWith a most loving appetite; with thisThe king anoints his temples, and the odourNo sooner captivates the silly birds,Than straight they flutter round him, nay, would flyA bolder pitch, so strong a love-charm draws them,And perch, O horror! on his sacred crown,If that such profanation were permittedOf the bystanders, who, with reverend care,Fright them away, till thus, retreating now,And now advancing, they keep such a coilWith their broad vans, and beat the lazy airInto so quick a stir, that in the conflictHis royal lungs are comfortably cool'd,And thus he sups as Paphian monarchs should.â€”Cumberland.

A.You say you've pass'd much of your time in Cyprus.

B.All; for the war prevented my departure.

A.In what place chiefly, may I ask?

B.In Paphos;

Where I saw elegance in such perfection,

As almost mocks belief.

A.Of what kind, pray you?

B.Take this for oneâ€”The monarch, when he sups,

Is fann'd by living doves.

A.You make me curious

How this is to be done; all other questions

I will put by to be resolved in this.

B.There is a juice drawn from a Syrian tree,

To which your dove instinctively is wedded

With a most loving appetite; with this

The king anoints his temples, and the odour

No sooner captivates the silly birds,

Than straight they flutter round him, nay, would fly

A bolder pitch, so strong a love-charm draws them,

And perch, O horror! on his sacred crown,

If that such profanation were permitted

Of the bystanders, who, with reverend care,

Fright them away, till thus, retreating now,

And now advancing, they keep such a coil

With their broad vans, and beat the lazy air

Into so quick a stir, that in the conflict

His royal lungs are comfortably cool'd,

And thus he sups as Paphian monarchs should.â€”Cumberland.

Alexis.(Book vi. Â§ 72, p. 405.)

I sigh'd for ease, and, weary of my lot,Wish'd to exchange it: in this mood I stroll'dUp to the citadel three several days;And there I found a bevy of preceptorsFor my new system, thirty in a group;All with one voice prepared to tutor meâ€”Eat, drink, and revel in the joys of love!For pleasure is the wise man's sovereign good.â€”Cumberland.

I sigh'd for ease, and, weary of my lot,

Wish'd to exchange it: in this mood I stroll'd

Up to the citadel three several days;

And there I found a bevy of preceptors

For my new system, thirty in a group;

All with one voice prepared to tutor meâ€”

Eat, drink, and revel in the joys of love!

For pleasure is the wise man's sovereign good.â€”Cumberland.

Antiphanes.(Book vi. Â§ 73, p. 405; Â§ 33, p. 375; and Â§ 35, p. 376.)

What art, vocation, trade or mystery,Can match with your fine Parasite?â€”The Painter?He! a mere dauber: a vile drudge the Farmer:Their business is to labour, ours to laugh,To jeer, to quibble, faith, Sirs! and to drink,Aye, and to drink lustily. Is not this rare?'Tis life, my life at least: the first of pleasuresWere to be rich myself; but next to thisI hold it best to be a Parasite,And feed upon the rich. Now mark me right!Set down my virtues one by one: Imprimis.Good-will to all menâ€”would they were all rich,So might I gull them all: malice to none;I envy no man's fortune, all I wishIs but to share it: would you have a friend,A gallant steady friend? I am your man:No striker I, no swaggerer, no defamer,But one to bear all these and still forbear:If you insult, I laugh, unruffled, merry,Invincibly good-humour'd still I laugh:A stout good soldier I, valorous to a fault,When once my stomach's up and supper served:You know my humour, not one spark of pride,Such and the same for ever to my friends:If cudgell'd, molten iron to the hammerIs not so malleable; but if I cudgel,Bold as the thunder: is one to be blinded?I am the lightning's flash: to be puff'd up?I am the wind to blow him to the bursting:Choked, strangled? I can do 't and save a halter:Would you break down his doors? behold an earthquake:Open and enter them? a battering-ram:Will you sit down to supper? I'm your guest,Your veryFlyto enter without bidding:Would you move off? you'll move a well as soon:I'm for all work, and though the job were stabbing,Betraying, false-accusing, only say,Do this! and it is done: I stick at nothing;They call me Thunder-bolt for my despatch;Friend of my friends am I: let actions speak me;I'm much too modest to commend myself.â€”Cumberland.

What art, vocation, trade or mystery,

Can match with your fine Parasite?â€”The Painter?

He! a mere dauber: a vile drudge the Farmer:

Their business is to labour, ours to laugh,

To jeer, to quibble, faith, Sirs! and to drink,

Aye, and to drink lustily. Is not this rare?

'Tis life, my life at least: the first of pleasures

Were to be rich myself; but next to this

I hold it best to be a Parasite,

And feed upon the rich. Now mark me right!

Set down my virtues one by one: Imprimis.

Good-will to all menâ€”would they were all rich,

So might I gull them all: malice to none;

I envy no man's fortune, all I wish

Is but to share it: would you have a friend,

A gallant steady friend? I am your man:

No striker I, no swaggerer, no defamer,

But one to bear all these and still forbear:

If you insult, I laugh, unruffled, merry,

Invincibly good-humour'd still I laugh:

A stout good soldier I, valorous to a fault,

When once my stomach's up and supper served:

You know my humour, not one spark of pride,

Such and the same for ever to my friends:

If cudgell'd, molten iron to the hammer

Is not so malleable; but if I cudgel,

Bold as the thunder: is one to be blinded?

I am the lightning's flash: to be puff'd up?

I am the wind to blow him to the bursting:

Choked, strangled? I can do 't and save a halter:

Would you break down his doors? behold an earthquake:

Open and enter them? a battering-ram:

Will you sit down to supper? I'm your guest,

Your veryFlyto enter without bidding:

Would you move off? you'll move a well as soon:

I'm for all work, and though the job were stabbing,

Betraying, false-accusing, only say,

Do this! and it is done: I stick at nothing;

They call me Thunder-bolt for my despatch;

Friend of my friends am I: let actions speak me;

I'm much too modest to commend myself.â€”Cumberland.

Pherecrates.(Book vi. Â§Â§ 96, 97, pp. 423, 424.)

The days of Plutus were the days of gold;The season of high feeding, and good cheer:Rivers of goodly beef and brewis ranBoiling and bubbling through the streaming streets,With islands of fat dumplings, cut in sopsAnd slippery gobbets, moulded into mouthfuls,That dead men might have swallow'd; floating tripes,And fleets of sausages, in luscious morsels,Stuck to the banks like oysters: here and there,For relishers, a salt-fish season'd highSwam down the savoury tide: when soon behold!The portly gammon, sailing in full stateUpon his smoking platter, heaves in sight,Encompass'd with his bandoliers like guards,And convoy'd by huge bowls of frumenty,That with their generous odours scent the air.â€”You stagger me to tell of these good days,And yet to live with us on our hard fare,When death's a deed as easy as to drink.If your mouth waters now, what had it done,Could you have seen our delicate fine thrushesHot from the spit, with myrtle-berries cramm'd,And larded well with celandine and parsley,Bob at your hungry lips, cryingâ€”Come eat me!Nor was this all; for pendent over-headThe fairest choicest fruits in clusters hung;Girls too, young girls just budding into bloom,Clad in transparent vests, stood near at handTo serve us with fresh roses, and full cupsOf rich and fragrant wine, of which one glassNo sooner was despatch'd, than straight behold!Two goblets, fresh and sparkling as the first,Provoked us to repeat the increasing draught.Away then with your ploughs, we need them not,Your scythes, your sickles, and your pruning-hooks!Away with all your trumpery at once!Seed-time and harvest-home and vintage wakesâ€”Your holidays are nothing worth to us.Our rivers roll with luxury, our vatsO'erflow with nectar, which providing JoveShowers down by cataracts; the very guttersFrom our house-tops spout wine, vast forests wave,Whose very leaves drop fatness, smoking viandsLike mountains rise.â€”All nature's one great feast. â€”Cumberland.

The days of Plutus were the days of gold;

The season of high feeding, and good cheer:

Rivers of goodly beef and brewis ran

Boiling and bubbling through the streaming streets,

With islands of fat dumplings, cut in sops

And slippery gobbets, moulded into mouthfuls,

That dead men might have swallow'd; floating tripes,

And fleets of sausages, in luscious morsels,

Stuck to the banks like oysters: here and there,

For relishers, a salt-fish season'd high

Swam down the savoury tide: when soon behold!

The portly gammon, sailing in full state

Upon his smoking platter, heaves in sight,

Encompass'd with his bandoliers like guards,

And convoy'd by huge bowls of frumenty,

That with their generous odours scent the air.

â€”You stagger me to tell of these good days,

And yet to live with us on our hard fare,

When death's a deed as easy as to drink.

If your mouth waters now, what had it done,

Could you have seen our delicate fine thrushes

Hot from the spit, with myrtle-berries cramm'd,

And larded well with celandine and parsley,

Bob at your hungry lips, cryingâ€”Come eat me!

Nor was this all; for pendent over-head

The fairest choicest fruits in clusters hung;

Girls too, young girls just budding into bloom,

Clad in transparent vests, stood near at hand

To serve us with fresh roses, and full cups

Of rich and fragrant wine, of which one glass

No sooner was despatch'd, than straight behold!

Two goblets, fresh and sparkling as the first,

Provoked us to repeat the increasing draught.

Away then with your ploughs, we need them not,

Your scythes, your sickles, and your pruning-hooks!

Away with all your trumpery at once!

Seed-time and harvest-home and vintage wakesâ€”

Your holidays are nothing worth to us.

Our rivers roll with luxury, our vats

O'erflow with nectar, which providing Jove

Showers down by cataracts; the very gutters

From our house-tops spout wine, vast forests wave,

Whose very leaves drop fatness, smoking viands

Like mountains rise.â€”All nature's one great feast. â€”Cumberland.

Philemon.(Book vii. Â§ 32, p. 453.)

How strong is my desire 'fore earth and heaven,To tell how daintily I cook'd his dinner'Gainst his return! By all Athena's owls!'Tis no unpleasant thing to hit the markOn all occasions. What a fish had Iâ€”And ah! how nicely fried! Not all bedevill'dWith cheese, or brown'd atop, but though well done,Looking alive, in its rare beauty dress'd.With skill so exquisite the fire I temper'd,It seem'd a joke to say that it was cook'd.And then, just fancy now you see a henGobbling a morsel much too big to swallow;With bill uplifted round and round she runsHalf-choking; while the rest are at her heelsClucking for shares. Just so 'twas with my soldiers;The first who touch'd the dish upstarted heWhirling round in a circle like the hen,Eating and running; but his jolly comrades,Each a fish worshipper, soon join'd the dance,Laughing and shouting, snatching some a bit,Some missing, till like smoke the whole had vanish'd.Yet were they merely mud-fed river dabs:But had some splendid scaros graced my pan,Or Attic glaucisk, or, O saviour Zeus!Kapros from Argos, or the conger-eel,Which old Poseidon exports to Olympus,To be the food of gods, why then my guestsHad rivall'd those above. I have, in fact,The power to lavish immortalityOn whom I please, or, by my potent art,To raise the dead, if they but snuff my dishes! â€”J. A. St. John.

How strong is my desire 'fore earth and heaven,

To tell how daintily I cook'd his dinner

'Gainst his return! By all Athena's owls!

'Tis no unpleasant thing to hit the mark

On all occasions. What a fish had Iâ€”

And ah! how nicely fried! Not all bedevill'd

With cheese, or brown'd atop, but though well done,

Looking alive, in its rare beauty dress'd.

With skill so exquisite the fire I temper'd,

It seem'd a joke to say that it was cook'd.

And then, just fancy now you see a hen

Gobbling a morsel much too big to swallow;

With bill uplifted round and round she runs

Half-choking; while the rest are at her heels

Clucking for shares. Just so 'twas with my soldiers;

The first who touch'd the dish upstarted he

Whirling round in a circle like the hen,

Eating and running; but his jolly comrades,

Each a fish worshipper, soon join'd the dance,

Laughing and shouting, snatching some a bit,

Some missing, till like smoke the whole had vanish'd.

Yet were they merely mud-fed river dabs:

But had some splendid scaros graced my pan,

Or Attic glaucisk, or, O saviour Zeus!

Kapros from Argos, or the conger-eel,

Which old Poseidon exports to Olympus,

To be the food of gods, why then my guests

Had rivall'd those above. I have, in fact,

The power to lavish immortality

On whom I please, or, by my potent art,

To raise the dead, if they but snuff my dishes! â€”J. A. St. John.

Hegesippus.(Book vii. Â§ 36, p. 455.)

A.I know it, my good friend, much has been said,And many books been written, on the artOf cookery; but tell me something new,Something above the common, nor disturbMy brain with what I've heard so oft before.B.Peace, and attend, you shall be satisfiedâ€”For I have raised myself, by due degrees,To the perfection of the art; nor haveI pass'd the last two years, since I have wornThe apron, with so little profit, butHave given my mind to study all its parts,T' apply that knowledge to its proper use;So as to mark the different sorts of herbs;By proper seas'ning, to give fish the bestAnd highest relish; and of lentils too,To note the several sorts. But to the point:When I am call'd to serve a funeral supper,The mourners just return'd, silent and sad,Clothed in funereal habitsâ€”I but raiseThe cover of my pot, and every faceAssumes a smile, the tears are wash'd away;Charm'd with the grateful flavour, they believeThey are invited to a wedding feastâ€”â€”A.What, and give such effect, from a poor dishOf miserable fish, and lentils?â€”â€”B.Ay;But this the prelude only, not worth noting;Let me but have the necessary means,A kitchen amply stored, and you shall see,That, like enchantment, I will spread aroundA charm as powerful as the siren's voice;That not a creature shall have power to moveBeyond the circle, forcibly detain'dBy the delicious odour; and should oneAttempt to draw yet nearer, he will standFix'd like a statue, with his mouth wide open,Inhaling with each breeze the precious steam,Silent and motionless; till some good friend,In pity to his fate, shall stop his nostrils,And drag him thence by forceâ€”â€”A.You are indeedA master of the artâ€”â€”B.You know not yetThe worth of him you speak toâ€”look on thoseWhom you see seated round, not one of themBut would his fortune risk to make me his.â€”Anon.

A.I know it, my good friend, much has been said,

And many books been written, on the art

Of cookery; but tell me something new,

Something above the common, nor disturb

My brain with what I've heard so oft before.

B.Peace, and attend, you shall be satisfiedâ€”

For I have raised myself, by due degrees,

To the perfection of the art; nor have

I pass'd the last two years, since I have worn

The apron, with so little profit, but

Have given my mind to study all its parts,

T' apply that knowledge to its proper use;

So as to mark the different sorts of herbs;

By proper seas'ning, to give fish the best

And highest relish; and of lentils too,

To note the several sorts. But to the point:

When I am call'd to serve a funeral supper,

The mourners just return'd, silent and sad,

Clothed in funereal habitsâ€”I but raise

The cover of my pot, and every face

Assumes a smile, the tears are wash'd away;

Charm'd with the grateful flavour, they believe

They are invited to a wedding feastâ€”â€”

A.What, and give such effect, from a poor dish

Of miserable fish, and lentils?â€”â€”

B.Ay;

But this the prelude only, not worth noting;

Let me but have the necessary means,

A kitchen amply stored, and you shall see,

That, like enchantment, I will spread around

A charm as powerful as the siren's voice;

That not a creature shall have power to move

Beyond the circle, forcibly detain'd

By the delicious odour; and should one

Attempt to draw yet nearer, he will stand

Fix'd like a statue, with his mouth wide open,

Inhaling with each breeze the precious steam,

Silent and motionless; till some good friend,

In pity to his fate, shall stop his nostrils,

And drag him thence by forceâ€”â€”

A.You are indeed

A master of the artâ€”â€”

B.You know not yet

The worth of him you speak toâ€”look on those

Whom you see seated round, not one of them

But would his fortune risk to make me his.â€”Anon.

Diphilus.(Book vii. Â§ 39, p. 458.)

Back to Index Next