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.—Axon.
Strato. (Book ix. § 29, p. 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;
