«Пир мудрецов (Дейпнософисты), Том 3»

"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.

Дифил. (Книга vi. § 6, стр. 356.)

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.

Тот же.

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.

Ксенарх. (Книга vi. § 6, стр. 357.)

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.

Тот же.

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.

Антифан. (Книга vi. § 7, стр. 357.)

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.

Алексид. (Книга vi. § 8, стр. 358.)

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.

Алексид. (Книга VI. § 10, стр. 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 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.

Из того же. (Книга vi. § 12, стр. 359.)

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.

Тот же.

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.

Дифил. (Книга vi. § 12, стр. 360.)

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:—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.—And you do wisely:

But what is this to me?—Why, this it is:

Here we behold you every day at work,

Living forsooth! not as your neighbours live,

But richly, royally, ye gods!—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 gold—

Not to be purchased: we may drink the ditches. —Cumberland.

Тот же.

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. —Molle.

Тот же.

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.—Anon.

Тот же.

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. —Anon.

Филиппид. (Книга vi. § 17, стр. 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, 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,—and reason good,

For 'tis no sooner on the altar placed,

Than rogues are watching to purloin it thence. —Anon.

Алексид. (Книга vi. § 28, стр. 372.)

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.—Anon.

Дифил. (Книга vi. § 29, стр. 372.)

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.—Anon.

Тот же.

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.—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.—Mitchell.

Эвполид. (Книга vi. § 30, стр. 373.)

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.—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.—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.—Cumberland.

Тот же.

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

If you'll attentive be;

Of parasites, (we're thieves by 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 Œneus rough and reckless.—L. S.

Алексид. (Книга vi. § 31, стр. 374.)

A. There are two sorts of parasites; the one

Of middle station, like ourselves, who are

Much noticed by the comic poets——

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 talents—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.—Anon.

Тимокл. (Книга vi. § 32, стр. 374.)

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.—Anon.

Антифан. (Книга vi. § 33, стр. 375.)

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 friends—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.—Anon.

Аристофон. (Книга vi. § 34, стр. 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 frog—

To feed on leaves and vegetable diet,

I am at once a very caterpillar—

Forbid the bath, I quarrel not with filth—

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 dust—

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.—Anon.

Тот же.

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. —Cumberland.

Тот же.

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 man—

The loathsom'st scab alive—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. —Bailey.

Тот же.

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 greens—a caterpillar;

In hating Bagnios—a lump of dirt;

In living out of doors all winter-time—

A blackbird; in enduring sultry heat,

And chattering at noon—a grasshopper;

In neither using oil, nor seeing it—

A cloud of dust; in walking up and down

Bare-footed at the dawn of day—a crane;

In sleeping not one single jot—a bat.—Walsh.

Эвбул. (Книга vi. § 35, стр. 376.)

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.—Walsh.

Диодор Синопский. (Книга vi. § 36, стр. 377.)

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.—Such practices

Have brought disgrace upon the name and office,

And what was honest and respectable

Is now become disgraceful and ignoble.—Anon.

Тот же.

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 wisdom—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 mansion—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:—the couch is spread,

The table furnish'd—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'd—hath not a god done so before me? —Mitchell.

Антифан. (Книга vi. § 71, стр. 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 one—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.—Cumberland.

Алексид. (Книга vi. § 72, стр. 405.)

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 me—

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

For pleasure is the wise man's sovereign good.—Cumberland.

Антифан. (Книга vi. § 73, стр. 405; § 33, стр. 375; и § 35, стр. 376.)

What art, vocation, trade or mystery,

Can match with your fine Parasite?—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 men—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 very Fly to 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.—Cumberland.

Ферекрат. (Книга vi. §§ 96, 97, стр. 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 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.

—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, crying—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 wakes—

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.—All nature's one great feast. —Cumberland.

Филемон. (Книга vii. § 32, стр. 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 mark

On all occasions. What a fish had I—

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! —J. A. St. John.

Гегесипп. (Книга vii. § 36, стр. 455.)

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 satisfied—

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 habits—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 feast——

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

Of miserable fish, and lentils?——

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 force——

A. You are indeed

A master of the art——

B. You know not yet

The worth of him you speak to—look on those

Whom you see seated round, not one of them

But would his fortune risk to make me his.—Anon.

Дифил. (Книга vii. § 39, стр. 458.)

'Tis not my custom to engage myself,

Till first I know how I'm to be employ'd,

And whether plenty is to crown the board.

I first inquire by whom the feast is given,

Who are the guests, and what the kind of fare;

For you must know I keep a register

Of different ranks, that I may judge at once

Whom to refuse, and where to offer service.

For instance now, with the seafaring tribe.

A captain just escaped from the rough sea,

Who, fearing shipwreck, cut away his mast,

Unshipp'd his rudder, or was forced to throw

Part of his loading overboard, now comes

To sacrifice on his arrival; him

I cautiously avoid: and reason good;

No credit can be gain'd by serving him,

For he does nothing for the sake of pleasure,

But merely to comply with custom; then

His habits are so economical,

He calculates beforehand the expense.

And makes a nice division of the whole

Between himself and his ship's company,

So that each person eats but of his own.

Another, just three days arrived in port,

Without or wounded mast or shatter'd sail,

With a rich cargo from Byzantium;

He reckons on his ten or twelve per cent.

Clear profit of adventure, is all joy,

All life, all spirits, chuckles o'er his gain,

And looks abroad, like a true sailor, for

Some kind and tender-hearted wench, to share

His happy fortunes, and is soon supplied

By the vile pimps that ply about the port.

This is the man for me; him I accost,

Hang on his steps, and whisper in his ear,

"Jove the preserver," nor withdraw my suit,

Till he has fairly fix'd me in his service.

This is my practice.—If I see some youth

Up to the ears in love, who spends his time

In prodigality and wild expense,

Him I make sure of.—But the cautious man,

Who calls a meeting at a joint expense,

Collects the symbols, and deposits them

Safe in his earthen pot; he may call loud,

And pull my robe, he'll not be heard, I pay

No heed to such mean wretches, for no gain

But blows can be obtain'd by serving them;

Though you work hard to please them night and day,

If you presume to ask such fellow for

The wages you have earn'd, he frowns, and cries,

"Bring me the pot, you varlet;" then bawls out,

"The lentils wanted vinegar;"—again

Demand your money, "Wretch," he loudly cries,

"Be silent, or I'll make you an example

For future cooks to mend their manners by."

More I could tell, but I have said enough.

B. You need not fear the service I require,

'Tis for a set of free and easy girls,

Who live hard by, and wish to celebrate

Gaily the feast of their beloved Adonis.

She who invites is a right merry lass,

And nothing will be spared: therefore be quick,

Tuck up your robe, and come away with me. —Anon.

Алексид. (Книга viii. § 15, стр. 532.)

Talk not to me of schools and trim academies,

Of music or sage meetings held at Pylus—

I'll hear no more of them: mere sugar'd words

Which melt as you pronounce them. Fill your cup

And pledge your neighbour in a flowing bumper.

This sums my doctrine whole: cocker your genius—

Feast it with high delights, and mark it be not

Too sad—I know no pleasure but the belly;

'Tis kin, 'tis genealogy to me:

I own no other sire nor lady-mother.

For virtue—'tis a cheat: your embassies—

Mere toys: office and army sway—boy's rattles.

They are a sound—a dream—an empty bubble;

Our fated day is fix'd, and who may cheat it?

Nought rests in perpetuity; nor may we

Call aught our own, save what the belly gives

A local habitation: for the rest—

What's Codrus? dust. What Pericles? a clod.

And noble Cymon?—tut, my feet walk over him. —Mitchell.

Махон. (Книга viii. § 26, стр. 538.)

Of all fish-eaters

None sure excell'd the lyric bard Philoxenus.

'Twas a prodigious twist! At Syracuse

Fate threw him on the fish call'd "Many-feet."

He purchased it and drest it; and the whole,

Bate me the head, form'd but a single swallow.

A crudity ensued—the doctor came,

And the first glance inform'd him things went wrong.

And "Friend," quoth he, "if thou hast aught to set

In order, to it straight;—pass but seven hours,

And thou and life must take a long farewell."

"I've nought to do," replied the bard: "all's right

And tight about me—nothing's in confusion—

Thanks to the gods! I leave a stock behind me

Of healthy dithyrambics, fully form'd,

A credit to their years;—not one among them

Without a graceful chaplet on his head:—

These to the Muses' keeping I bequeath,

(We long were fellow-nurslings,) and with them

Be Bacchus and fair Venus in commission.—

Thus far, Sir, for my testament:—for respite,

I look not for it, mark, at Charon's hand,

(Take me, I would be understood to mean

Timotheus' Charon,—him in the Niobe:)

I hear his voice this moment—"Hip! halloo!

To ship, to ship," he cries: the swarthy Destinies

(And who must not attend their solemn bidding?)

Unite their voices.—I were loth, howe'er,

To troop with less than all my gear about me;—

Good doctor, be my helper then to what

Remains of that same blessed Many-feet!—Mitchell.

Феникс. (Книга viii. § 59, стр. 566.)

Lords and ladies, for your ear,

We have a petitioner.

Name and lineage would you know?—

'Tis Apollo's child, the crow;

Waiting till your hands dispense

Gift of barley, bread or pence.

Be it but a lump of salt;

His is not the mouth to halt.

Nought that's proffer'd he denies;

Long experience makes him wise.

Who to-day gives salt, he knows,

Next day fig or honey throws.—

Open, open gate and door:

Mark! the moment we implore,

Comes the daughter of the squire,

With such figs as wake desire.—

Maiden, for this favour done

May thy fortunes, as they run,

Ever brighten—be thy spouse

Rich and of a noble house;

May thy sire in aged ease

Nurse a boy who calls thee mother:

And his grandam on her knees

Rock a girl who calls him brother;—

Kept as bride in reservation

For some favour'd near relation.—

But enough now: I must tread

Where my feet and eyes are led;

Dropping at each door a strain,

Let me lose my suit or gain.

Then search, worthy gentles, the cupboard's close nook:

To the lord, and still more to the lady we look:

Custom warrants the suit—let it still then bear sway;

And your crow, as in duty most bounden, shall pray. —Mitchell.

Тот же.

Good people, a handful of barley bestow

On the bearers about of the sable crow—

Apollo's daughter she—

But if the barley-heap wax low,

Still kindly let your bounty flow,

And of the yellow grains that grow

On the wheaten stalk be free.

Or a well-kneaded loaf or an obolos give,

Or what you will, for the crow must live.

If the gods have been bountiful to you to-day,

Oh, say not to her for whom we sing,

Say not, we implore you, nay,

To the bird of the cloudy wing.

A grain of salt will please her well,

And whoso this day that bestows,

May next day give (for who can tell?)

A comb from which the honey flows.

But come, come, what need we say more?

Open the door, boy, open the door,

For Plutus has heard our prayers.

And see, through the porch, a damsel, as sweet

As the winds that play round the flowery feet

Of Ida, comes the crow to meet,

And a basket of figs she bears.

Oh, may this maiden happy be,

And from care and sorrow free;

Let her all good fortune find,

And a husband rich and kind.

And when her parents have grown old,

Let her in her father's arms

Place a boy as fair as she,

With the ringlets all of gold,

And, upon her mother's knee,

A maiden deck'd with all her charms.

But I from house to house must go,

And wherever my eyes by my feet are borne,

To the muse at night and morn

For those who do or don't bestow,

The mellow words of song shall flow.

Come then, good folks, your plenty share;

O give, my prince! and maiden fair,

Be bountiful to-day.

Sooth, custom bids ye all to throw

Whole handfulls to the begging crow;

At least give something; say not, No,

And we will go our way. —J. A. St. John.

Клеобул. (Книга viii. § 60, стр. 567.)

The swallow is come, and with her brings

A year with plenty overflowing;

Freely its rich gifts bestowing,

The loveliest of lovely springs.

She is come, she is come,

To her sunny home;

And white is her breast as a beam of light,

But her back and her wings are as black as night.

Then bring forth your store,

Bring it out to the door,

A mass of figs, or a stoop of wine,

Cheese, or meal, or what you will,

Whate'er it be we'll not take it ill:

Even an egg will not come amiss,

For the swallow's not nice

When she wishes to dine.

Come, what shall we have? Say, what shall it be?

For we will not go,

Though time doth flee,

Till thou answerest Yes, or answerest No.

But if thou art churlish we'll break down the gate,

And thy pretty wife we'll bear away;

She is small, and of no great weight.

Open, open, then we say.

Not old men, but boys are we,

And the swallow says, "Open to me."—J. A. St. John.

Тот же.

The swallow, the swallow has burst on the sight,

He brings us gay seasons of vernal delight;

His back it is sable, his belly is white.

Can your pantry nought spare,

That his palate may please,

A fig—or a pear—

Or a slice of rich cheese?

Mark, he bars all delay:

At a word, my friend, say,

Is it yes,—is it nay?

Do we go?—do we stay?—

One gift and we're gone:

Refuse, and anon

On your gate and your door

All our fury we pour.

Or our strength shall be tried

On your sweet little bride:

From her seat we will tear her;

From her home we will bear her:

She is light, and will ask

But small hands to the task.—

Let your bounty then lift

A small aid to our mirth;

And whatever the gift,

Let its size speak its worth.

The swallow, the swallow

Upon you doth wait:

An almsman and suppliant

He stands at your gate:

Set open, set open

Your gate and your door;

Neither giants nor grey-beards,—

We your bounty implore.—Mitchell.

Тот же.

The swallow's come, winging

His way to us here!

Fair hours is he bringing,

And a happy new year!

White and black

Are his belly and back.

Give him welcome once more,

With figs from your store,

With wine in its flasket,

And cheese in its basket,

And eggs,—ay, and wheat if we ask it.

Shall we go or receive? yes, we'll go, if you'll give;

But, if you refuse us, we never will leave.

We'll tear up the door,

And the lintel and floor;

And your wife, if you still demur—

She is little and light—we will come to-night

And run away e'en with her.

But if you will grant

The presents we want,

Great good shall come of it,

And plenty of profit!

Come, throw open free

Your doors to the swallow!

Your children are we,

Not old beggars, who follow.—E. B. C.

Эвфрон. (Книга ix. § 21, стр. 595.)

Carian! time well thy ambidextrous part,

Nor always filch. It was but yesterday,

Blundering, they nearly caught thee in the fact;

None of thy balls had livers, and the guests,

In horror, pierced their airy emptiness.

Not even the brains were there, thou brainless hound!

If thou art hired among the middling class,

Who pay thee freely, be thou honourable!

But for this day, where now we go to cook,

E'en cut the master's throat for all I care;

"A word to th' wise," and show thyself my scholar!

There thou may'st filch and revel; all may yield

Some secret profit to thy sharking hand.

'Tis an old miser gives a sordid dinner,

And weeps o'er every sparing dish at table;

Then if I do not find thou dost devour

All thou canst touch, e'en to the very coals,

I will disown thee! Lo! old Skin-flint comes;

In his dry eyes what parsimony stares!—D'Israeli.

Сосипатр. (Книга ix. § 22, стр. 595.)

A. If you consider well, my Demylus,

Our art is neither low nor despicable;

But since each rude and untaught blockhead dares

Present himself as cook profess'd, the art

Has sunk in estimation, nor is held

In that respect and honour as of old.—

Imagine to yourself a cook indeed,

Versed from his infancy in all the arts

And mysteries of his trade; a person, too,

Of shining talents, well instructed in

The theory and practice of his art;

From such a one you will be taught to prize

And value as you ought, this first of arts.

There are but three of any character

Now living: Boidion is one, and then

Chariades, and, to crown all, myself;

The rest, depend upon it, are beneath

Your notice.

B. How is that?

A. Believe me, truth;

We three are the supporters of the school

Of Sicyon; he, indeed, was prince of cooks,

And as a skill'd professor, taught us first

The motion of the stars, and the whole scheme

And science of astrology; he then

Inform'd us of the rules of architecture,

And next instructed us in physics, and

The laws of motion, and th' inventions rare

Of natural philosophy; this done,

He lectured in the military art.

Having obtain'd this previous knowledge, he

Began to lead us to the elements

Of cookery.

B. Can what you say be truth,

Or do you jest?

A. Most certainly 'tis true;

And while the boy is absent at the market,

I will just touch upon the subject, which,

As time shall serve hereafter, we may treat

More largely at our ease.

B. Apollo, lend

Thy kind assistance, for I've much to hear.

A. First, then, a perfect and accomplish'd cook

Should be well skill'd in meteorology;

Should know the motions of the stars, both when

They rise, and when again they set; and how

The planets move within their several orbits;

Of the sun's course, when he prolongs the day,

Or sets at early hour, and brings in night;

His place i' the Zodiac; for as these revolve

All aliments are savour'd, or to please

And gratify the taste, or to offend

And pall the appetite: he who knows this

Has but to mind the season of the year,

And he may decorate his table with

The choicest viands, of the highest relish.

But he who, ignorant of this, pretends

To give directions for a feast, must fail.

Perhaps it may excite your wonder, how

The rules of architecture should improve

The art of cookery?

B. I own it does.

A. I will convince you, then. You must agree,

That 'tis a most important point to have

The chimney fix'd just in its proper place;

That light be well diffused throughout the kitchen;

That you may see how the wind blows, and how

The smoke inclines, which, as it leans to this

Or t' other quarter, a good cook knows well

To take advantage of the circumstance,

And make it favourable to his art.

Then military tactics have their use;

And this the learn'd professor knows, and like

A prudent general, marshals out his force

In proper files, for order governs all;

He sees each dish arranged upon the board

With due decorum, in its proper place,

And borne from thence in the same order, too;

No hurry, no confusion; his quick eye

Discovers at a glance if all is right;

Knows how to suit the taste of every guest,

If such a dish should quickly be removed,

And such another occupy its place.

To one serves up his food quite smoking hot,

And to another moderately warm,

Then to a third quite cold, but all in order,

And at the moment, as he gives the word.

This knowledge is derived, as you perceive,

From strict attention to the rules of art

And martial discipline.—Would you know more?

B. I am quite satisfied, and so farewell. —Anon.

Тот же.

Such lore, he said, was requisite

For him who thought beside his spit;

And undeterr'd by noise or heat,

Could calmly con each new receipt:

Star knowledge first, for meats are found

With rolling months to go the round;

And, as the sunshine's short or long,

Yield flavours exquisite or strong:

Fishes, 'tis known, as seasons vary,

Are delicate, or quite 'contrary;'

The tribes of air, like those of fin,

Change with each sign the sun goes in:

So that who only knows what cheer,

Not when to buy's no cook, 'tis clear.

A cook who would his kitchen show,

Must also architecture know;

And see, howe'er it blows without,

His fire, like Vesta's, ne'er goes out;

Nor soot unsightly smudge the dish,

And spoil the vol au vent, or fish.

Nor only to the chimney looks

Our true Mageiros, king of cooks;

Beside the chimney, that his eye

May clearly view the day's supply,

He opes his window, in that spot

Where Sol peeps in, to show what's what:

The range, the dresser, ceiling, floor,

What cupboard, shelves, and where the door

Are his to plan; and if he be

The man I mean, to each he'll see.

Lastly, to marshal in array

The long-drawn line of man and tray:

The light-arm'd first, who nimbly bear

Their glittering lances through the air;

And then the hoplitic troop to goad,

Who bend beneath their chargers' load,

And, empty dishes ta'en away,

Place solid flank for new assay;

While heavy tables creak and groan

Under the χῶρος λοπάδων.

All this demands such skill, as wields

The veteran chief of hard-won fields!

Who rules the roast might rule the seas,

Or baste his foes with equal ease;

And cooks who're equal to a rout,

Might take a town, or storm redout.—W. J. B.

Тот же.

Cook. Our art is not entirely despicable,

If you examine it, good Demylus;

But the pursuit has been run down, and all

Almost, however stupid, say they're cooks;

And by such cheats as these the art is ruin'd.

For, if you take a veritable cook,

Well brought up to his business from a boy,

And skilful in the properties of things,

And knowing all the usual sciences;

Then the affair will seem quite different.

We are the only three remaining ones—

Chariades, and Bœdion, and I.

A fico for the rest!

Gent. What's that you say?

Cook. What, I?

'Tis we that keep up Sicon's school,

Who was the head and founder of the art.

He used to teach us first of all astronomy;

Next after that directly, architecture;

Confining all he said to natural science.

Then, to conclude, he lectured upon tactics.

All this he made us learn before the art.

Gent. Dear sir, d'ye mean to worry me to death?

Cook. No; while the slave is coming back from market,

I'll rouse your curiosity a little

Upon the subject, that we thus may seize

This most convenient time for conversation.

Gent. By Phœbus, but you'll find it a hard matter!

Cook. Listen, good sir. Firstly, the cook must know

"Astronomy,"—the settings and the risings

Of all the stars, and when the sun comes back

Both to the longest and the shortest day,

And through what constellations he is passing.

For nearly every kind of meat and food

Deceives, they say, a varying gout within it

During the revolution of the system.

So he that knows all this, will see the season,

And use each article just as he ought;

But he that does not, will be justly thump'd.

Again, perhaps, you wonder as to "architecture,"

How it can aid the art of cookery?

Gent. I know it. 'Tis most strange.

Cook. Yet I'll explain it.

To plan the kitchen rightly and receive

As much light as you want, and see from whence

The draught is, does good service in the business.

The driving of the smoke, now here, now there,

Makes a material difference when you're boiling.

Why should I, then, go on to prove that "tactics"

Are needful to the Cook? Good order's good

In every station and in every art;

In ours, it almost is the leading point.

The serving up, and the removing all things

In order, and the seeing when's the time

Either to introduce them quick or slowly,

And how the guests may feel inclined for eating,

And, as regards the dishes too, themselves,

When is the proper time to serve some hot,

Some warm, some cooling, some completely cold,

Is all discuss'd in the Tactician's science.

Gent. Then, as you've pointed out to me what's needful,

Go, get you gone, and rest yourself a bit.—Anon.

Алексид. (Книга ix. § 23, стр. 596.)

A. You surely must confess that, in most arts,

The pleasure that results from the perfection

Is not enjoy'd by him alone, whose mind

The rich invention plann'd, or by whose hands

'Tis fashion'd into shape; but they who use it

Perhaps partake a larger portion still.

B. As I'm a stranger, pray inform me how?

A. For instance, to prepare a sumptuous feast,

We must provide a tolerable cook;

His work once done, his function's at an end.

Then, if the guests for whom it is prepared

Come at the proper moment, all is well,

And they enjoy a most delicious treat.

If they delay, the dishes are all cold,

And must be warm'd again; or what has been

Kept back, is now too hastily despatch'd,

And is served up ill dress'd, defrauding thus

The act itself of its due merit.—Anon.

Эвфрон. (Книга ix. § 24, стр. 597.)

I have had many pupils in my time,

But you, my Lycus, far exceed them all

In clear and solid sense, and piercing judgment.

Young as you are, with only ten months' study,

I send you forth into the world, a cook,

Complete and perfect in the rules of art.

Agis of Rhodes alone knew how to broil

A fish in due perfection; Nereus, too,

Of Chios, for stew'd congers had no equal;

For from his hands, it was a dish for th' gods.

Then for white thrion, no one could exceed

Chariades of Athens; for black broth,

Th' invention and perfection's justly due

To Lamprias alone; while Aponètus

Was held unrivall'd for his sausages.

For lentils, too, Euthynus beat the world;

And Aristion above all the rest

Knew how to suit each guest, with the same dish

Served up in various forms, at those repasts

Where each man paid his share to deck the board.—

After the ancient Sophists, these alone

Were justly deem'd the seven wise men of Greece.—Anon.

Стратон. (Книга ix. § 29, стр. 601.)

I've harbour'd a he-sphinx and not a cook,

For, by the gods! he talk'd to me in riddles,

And coin'd new words that pose me to interpret.

No sooner had he enter'd on his office,

Than eyeing me from head to foot, he cries—

"How many mortals hast thou bid to supper?"

Mortals! quoth I, what tell you me of mortals?

Let Jove decide on their mortality;

You're crazy sure! none by that name are bidden.

"No table usher? no one to officiate

As master of the courses?"—No such person;

Moschion and Niceratus and Philinus,

These are my guests and friends, and amongst these

You'll find no table-decker, as I take it.

"Gods! is it possible?" cried he;—Most certain,

I patiently replied: he swell'd and huff'd,

As if, forsooth! I'd done him heinous wrong,

And robb'd him of his proper dignity;

Ridiculous conceit!—"What offering mak'st thou

To Erysichthon?" he demanded: None—

"Shall not the wide-horn'd ox be fell'd?" cries he:

I sacrifice no ox—"Nor yet a wether?"

Not I, by Jove! a simple sheep perhaps:

"And what's a wether but a sheep?" cries he.

I'm a plain man, my friend, and therefore speak

Plain language:—"What! I speak as Homer does;

And sure a cook may use like privilege

And more than a blind poet."—Not with me;

I'll have no kitchen-Homers in my house!

So pray discharge yourself!—This said, we parted. —Cumberland.

Антипп. (Книга ix. § 68, стр. 637.)

I like to see the faces of my guests,

To feed them as their age and station claim.

My kitchen changes, as my guests inspire

The various spectacle; for lovers now,

Philosophers, and now for financiers,

If my young royster be a mettled spark,

Who melts an acre in a savoury dish

To charm his mistress, scuttle-fish and crabs,

And all the shelly race, with mixture due

Of cordials filter'd, exquisitely rich.

For such a host, my friend! expends much more

In oil than cotton; solely studying love!

To a philosopher, that animal,

Voracious, solid ham and bulky feet;