Deipnosophistae
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Original / primary: Perseus Eng2
3.1
You may sow the Egyptian bean, in order in summer
3.1
To make its flowers into garlands; and when the ciboria
3.1
Have fallen, then give the ripe fruit to the youths
3.1
Who are feasting with you, into their hands, as they have been a long time
3.1
Wishing for them; but roots I boil, and then place on the table at feasts.
3.1
Have peel'd the beans, and cut up the colocasia.
3.4
Eat the cucumber, O woman, and weave your cloak.
3.4
And I saw a cucumber, the son of the all-glorious Earth,
3.4
Lying among the herbs; and it was served up on nine tables.This is parodied from— καὶ τίτυον εἶδον γαίης ἐρικυδέος υἷον κειμένον ἐν δαπέδῳ ὁδ’ ἔπ’ ἐννεὰ κεῖτο πέλεθρα: translated by Pope: There Tityus large, and long in fetters bound, O'erspreads nine acres of infernal ground.
3.4
But, as when cucumber grows up in a dewy place,
3.4
εντραγεῖν σικύδιον, to eat a little cucumber.
3.4
I will send radishes and four cucumbers.
3.6
A. What fruits this land produces!
3.6
Superior, O Hipponicus, to the world.
3.6
What honey, what bread, what figs!
3.6
Hipp. It does, by Jove!
3.6
Bear wondrous figs.
3.6
The name of sycophant is one which does
3.6
Of right apply to every wicked person;
3.6
For figs when added to a name might show
3.6
Whether the man was good and just and pleasant
3.6
But now when a sweet name is given a rogue,
3.6
It makes us doubt why this should be the case.
3.7
I am planting figs of all sorts except the Lacedæmonian,
3.7
For this kind is the fig of an enemy and a tyrant:
3.7
And it would not have been so small a fruit if it had not been a great hater of the people.
3.7
And the beautiful fig,
3.7
The wonderful invention of the Phrygian fig,
3.7
The diine object of my mother's care.
3.7
O my good friend, make haste and catch a fever,
3.7
And then alarm yourself with no anxiety,
3.7
But eat Phibalean figs all the summer;
3.7
And then, when you have eaten your fill, sleep the whole of the midday;
3.7
And then feel violent pains, get in a fever, and holloa.
3.7
How beautiful those Phibalean figs are!
3.7
. . . . . But first of all
3.7
I want some myrtle-berries on the table,
3.7
Which I may eat when e'er I counsel take;
3.7
And they must be Phibalean, very fine,
3.7
Fit for a garland.
3.7
Then, in a little while, a well-fill'd basket
3.7
Of dry Chelidonian figs is brought in.
3.9
I am arrived after a long voyage, not having brought
3.9
A valuable freight of Canæan figs.
3.9
Moreover, all the wine
3.9
Was very sour and thin, so that I felt
3.9
Ashamed to see it; for all other farms
3.9
In the adjacent region bear the figs
3.9
Ycleped Oxalian; and mine bears vines.
3.9
Never mind Paros, and the figs which grow
3.9
Within that marble island, and the life
3.9
Of its seafaring islanders.
3.10
There are besides the Leucerinean figs.
3.10
Or else to fasten him on the erinean boughs.
3.10
But these are not like the erinean figs.
3.10
A ripe ἐρινὸς is a useless thing
3.10
For food, and yet you ripen others by
3.10
Your conversation.
3.10
And why now need we speak of people who
3.10
Sell every day their figs in close pack'd baskets,
3.10
And constantly do place those figs below
3.10
Which are hard and bad; but on top they range
3.10
The ripe and beautiful fruit. And then a comrade,
3.10
As if he'd bought the basket, gives the price;
3.10
The seller, putting in his mouth the coin,
3.10
Sells wild figs (ἔρινα) while he swears he's selling good ones.
3.10
Have you not perceived a wild fig-tree near her?
3.10
There stands a large wild fig-tree flourishing with leaves.
3.11
Either Phibalean figs, or Coracean.
3.12
Take for a while the fig-tree's leaves
3.12
Which bears its crop twice in the year.
3.12
'Tis by the double-bearing fig-tree there below.
3.14
The fig-tree black, the sister of the vine.
3.15
If any one of us, after absence, sees a fig,
3.15
He will apply it like a plaster to his children's eyes:
3.15
He who should shut up gold within his house,
3.15
And a few figs, and two or three men,
3.15
Would see how far the figs surpass the gold.
3.18
But once seeing him when he was sick in the summer,
3.18
In order to be sick too himself, eat figs at midday.
3.18
No doubt it was; for I was sick, my friend,
3.18
From eating lately figs one day at noon.
3.18
But if a man should eat green figs at noon,
3.18
And then go off to sleep; immediately
3.18
A galloping fever comes on him, accursed,
3.18
And falling on him brings up much black bile.
3.19
Figs after fish, vegetables after meat.
3.19
Figs are agreeable to birds, but they do not choose to plant them.
3.21
Before the king's most honour'd throne,
3.21
I threw Cydonian apples down;
3.21
And leaves of myrrh, and crowns of roses,
3.21
And violets in purple posies.
3.21
Likening her bosom to Cydonian apples.
3.22
Like a beautiful apple which is grown on the clayey banks
3.22
Of the little Sidus, refulgent with purple colour.
3.22
And immediately, from the gardens of Sidoeis or Pleistus
3.22
He cut green apples, and imitated the appearance of Cadmus.
3.22
More dear to me was he than downy apples
3.22
Of purple hue, in lofty Corinth growing.
3.23
O men, in some things neat, but yet in others
3.23
More fallen than phaulian apples!
3.23
Guarding the apples in the bosom of Bacchus;
3.23
And having on his head a poplar garland,
3.23
The silv'ry tree, sacred to Theban Hercules.
3.27
A. 'Tis silly to say a word about roast meat
3.27
To men who're ne'er content. But now, my girl,
3.27
Just take these apples.
3.27
B. They are fine to look at.
3.27
A. Indeed they are, and good too, O ye gods!
3.27
For this seed has arrived not long ago
3.27
In Athens, coming from the mighty king.
3.27
B. I thought it came from the Hesperides;
3.27
For there they say the golden apples grow.
3.27
A. They have but three.
3.27
B. That which is very beautiful
3.27
Is rare in every place, and so is dear.
3.27
B. I thought, I swear by Dian, that they came
3.27
From out the garden of the Hesperides,
3.27
For they, they say, do keep the golden apples.
3.27
A. They have but three.
3.27
B. That which is very beautiful
3.27
Is rare in every place, and so is dear.
3.27
A. I'll sell you these now for a single penny,
3.27
And even that I'll put down in the bill.
3.27
B. Are they not pomegranates? how fine they are!
3.27
A. Fine! yes—they say that Venus did herself
3.27
Plant this the parent tree in Cyprus, where it stands.
3.27
Take it, my dear Berbeias.
3.27
B. Thank you kindly.
3.27
A. Take also these three; they are all I had.
3.30
Come, now, bring all kinds of shell-fish;
3.30
Lepades, aspedi, crabyzi, strabeli, cecibali,
3.30
Tethunachia, balani, porphyryæ, and oysters with closed shells,
3.30
Which are very difficult to open, but very easy to eat;
3.30
And mussels, and anaritæ, and ceryces, and sciphydria,
3.30
Which are very sweet to eat, but very prickly to touch;
3.30
And also the oblong solens. And bring too the black
3.30
Cockle, which keeps the cockle-hunter on the stretch.
3.30
Then too there are other cockles, and sand-eels,
3.30
And periwinkles, unproductive fish,
3.30
Which men entitle banishers of men,
3.30
But which we gods call white and beautiful.
3.31
There is the cockle, which we call the tells;
3.31
Believe me, that is most delicious meat.
3.31
O child of the rock, and of the hoary sea;
3.31
Of all limpets the sea-limpet most relaxes the mind.
3.31
But stop, for suddenly a certain sound
3.31
Of the melodious tellina strikes my ears.
3.31
Just look now at this tellina, and behold
3.31
This periwinkle and this splendid limpet.
3.31
For now melænides will come to us,
3.31
Sent from a narrow harbour.
3.31
Sticking to the rocks as a periwinkle.
3.31
Who has plunder'd the islands producing the periwinkle?
3.31
And Homer makes mention of the oyster.
3.32
With limpets and sea-urchins and escharæ,
3.32
And with periwinkles and cockles.
3.32
The ceryx, ocean's nursling, child of purple.
3.32
Come now, my son, and look if we may find
3.32
Some of the nice strabelus, ocean's child.
3.32
These now are most undoubted delicacies,
3.32
Cockles and solens; and the crooked locusts
3.32
Spring forth in haste like dolphins.
3.32
A. What are these long cockles, O my friend,
3.32
Which you do think so much of?
3.32
B. Solens, to be sure.
3.32
This too is the sweet-flesh'd cockle, dainty food,
3.32
The dish much loved by widows.
3.32
She indeed like pinnas and sea oysters.
3.32
A little polypus, or a small cuttle-fish,
3.32
A crab, a crawfish, oysters, cockles,
3.32
Limpets and solens, mussels and pinnas;
3.32
Periwinkles too, from Mitylene take;
3.32
Let us have two sprats, and mullet, ling,
3.32
And conger-eel, and perch, and black fish.
3.33
They all gaped on each other, and were like
3.33
To cockles (κόγχαι) roasted on the coals.
3.33
And then the cockles (κόγχαι) as at one comma d
3.33
All yawned on us, and each display'd its flesh.
3.33
Cockles (κόγχοι) muscles, oysters.
3.33
There was a cockle (κόγχος) and other fish too drawn from the sea
3.33
At the same time, and by the same net.
3.34
It is time now to eat eels and crabs,
3.34
Cockles, and fresh sea-urchins, and fish sounds,
3.34
And pinnas, and the necks of fish, and mussels.
3.39
Know that pot-herbs first were given,
3.39
And then the rough sea-nettles (ἀκάληφαι);
3.39
I'd rather wear a crown of sea-nettles (ἀκάληφαι).
3.39
He put before me oysters and sea-nettles and limpets.
3.39
But, you most valiant of the oyster race,
3.39
Offspring of that rough dam, the sea-nettle;
3.40
With limpets and with sea-urchins, and escharæ,
3.40
With needle-fishes, and with periwinkles.
3.41
Tearing up, and separating, and licking
3.41
My spatange from the bottom.
3.41
Then came the crabs, sea-urchins, and all fish
3.41
Which know not how to swim in the briny sea,
3.41
But only walk on foot along the bottom.
3.41
But while on land I more approve the conduct
3.41
Of the great lion, than the dirty tricks
3.41
Of the sea-urchin; he, when he perceives
3.41
The impending onset of superior foes,
3.41
Rolls himself up, wrapped in his cloak of thorns,
3.41
Impregnable in bristly panoply.
3.44
And all the oysters which the foaming brine
3.44
Beneath its vasty bosom cherishes,
3.44
The periwinkle, whilk, pelorias,
3.44
The mussel, and the slimy tellina,
3.44
And the deep shell which makes the pinna's hole.
3.44
Aenus has mussels fine, Abydus too
3.44
Is famous for its oysters; Parium produces
3.44
Crabs, the bears of the sea, and Mitylene periwinkles;
3.44
Ambracia in all kinds of fish abounds,
3.44
And the boar-fish sends forth: and in its narrow strait
3.44
Messene cherishes the largest cockles.
3.44
In Ephesus you shall catch chemæ, which are not bad,
3.44
And Chalcedon will give you oysters. But may Jupiter
3.44
Destroy the race of criers, both the fish born in the sea,
3.44
And those wretches which infest the city forum;
3.44
All except one man, for he is a friend of mine,
3.44
Dwelling in Lesbos, abounding in grapes; and his name is Agatho.
3.44
Like the pinna or the oyster (ὄστρειον).
3.44
Oysters which have grown together.
3.46
There must be an emerald and a sardonyx.
3.47
I say that you are selling tripe and paunches
3.47
Which to the revenue no tithe have paid.
3.47
Why, my friend, hinder me from washing my paunches,
3.47
And from selling my sausages? Why do you laugh at me?
3.47
But I, as soon as I have swallow'd down
3.47
A bullock's paunch, and a dish of pig's tripe,
3.47
And drunk some broth, won't stay to wash my hands,
3.47
But will cut the throats of the orators, and will confuse Nicias.
3.47
But the Virgin Goddess born of the mighty Father
3.47
Gives you some boiled meat, extracted from the broth,
3.47
And a slice of paunch, and tripe, and entrails.
3.47
Fighting for a noble jawbone of beef.
3.47
And he places on the table tender jawbones.
3.47
Let them prepare a dish of tripe, for me
3.47
To set before these wise philosophers.
3.47
How fine, says he, is now this slice of tripe.
3.47
Then came a slice and good large help of tripe.
3.47
Having cut out a piece of the middle of the tripe.
3.48
A. There are here near three minas' weight of meat
3.48
Well boiled.
3.48
B. What next
3.48
A. There is a calf's nose, and
3.48
A heel of bacon, and four large pig's-feet.
3.48
B. A noble dish, by Hercules!
3.48
A. And three calves-feet.
3.48
A. I would much rather roast a little fish,
3.48
Than here repeat whole plays of Aeschylus.
3.48
B. What do you mean by little fish Do you intend
3.48
To treat your friends as invalids? 'Twere better
3.48
To boil the extremities of eatable animals,
3.48
Their feet and noses.
3.48
For having an unseemly snout of pig,
3.48
My dear Cinesias.
3.48
Then I perceived I bore a swine's snout.
3.48
I am making soup,
3.48
Putting in well-warm'd fish, and adding to them
3.48
Some scarce half-eaten fragments; and the pettitoes
3.48
Of a young porker, and his ears; the which I sprinkle
3.48
With savoury assafœtida; and then
3.48
I make the whole into a well-flavour'd sausage,
3.48
A meat most saleable. Then do I add a slice
3.48
Of tender tripe; and a snout soak'd in vinegar.
3.48
So that the guests do all confess, the second day
3.48
Has beaten e'en the wedding-day itself.
3.48
Wretch that I am, I've eaten tripe, my son:
3.48
How can I bear to see a roasted snout?
3.48
Is not this plainly now a porker's snout?
3.48
To hide the sharpened snout beneath the earth.
3.48
And this, too, though you have so long a nose (ῥύγχος).
3.48
For the god turns his nose towards us.
3.49
And of a truth, plague take it, I have boil'd
3.49
Four tender pettitoes for you for dinner.
3.49
Pig's pettitoes, and bread, and crabs.
3.49
A. And then you sacrifice a pig's extremities
3.49
To Venus,—what a joke!
3.49
B. That is your ignorance;
3.49
For she in Cyprus is so fond of pigs,
3.49
O master, that she drove away the herd
3.49
Of swine from off the dunghill where they fed,
3.49
And made the cows eat dirt instead of them.
3.49
But whole pig's feet of the most tender flavour
3.49
Were placed at hand in dishes gaily adorned,
3.49
And boil'd ears, and other extremities.
3.49
But when we had nearly come to an end of breakfast,
3.49
And eaten all the ears and pettitoes.
3.49
This meat is but half roasted, and the fragments
3.49
Are wholly wasted; see this conger eel,
3.49
How badly boiled; and as for the pettitoes,
3.49
They now are wholly spoilt.
3.49
A. Tell us, I pray you now then, how the supper
3.49
Will be prepared.
3.49
B. Undoubtedly I will.
3.49
In the first place, a dish of well-minced eel;
3.49
Then cuttle-fish, and lamb, a slice of rich
3.49
Well-made black pudding; then some pig's feet boil'd;
3.49
Some liver, and a loin of mutton,
3.49
And a mighty number of small birds; and cheese
3.49
In honey steep'd, and many a slice of meat.
3.49
A. The well-warm'd legs of pigs.'
3.49
B. A noble dish,
3.49
I swear by Vesta.
3.49
A. Then some boiled cheese
3.49
Bubbled upon the board.
3.49
It is no great hardship, if it must be so,
3.49
To buy and eat the boil'd feet of a pig.
3.49
I've had anchovies quite enough; for I
3.49
Am stretch'd almost to bursting while I eat
3.49
Such rich and luscious food. But bring me something
3.49
Which shall take off the taste of all these dainties.
3.49
Bring me some liver, or a good large slice
3.49
Of a young goat. And if you can't get that,
3.49
Let me at least have a rib or a tongue,
3.49
Or else the spleen, or entrails, or the tripe
3.49
Of a young porker in last autumn born;
3.49
And with it some hot rolls.
3.51
The remnants to the dogs they're wont to throw,
3.52
As if among thistles, or plants of rough borage—-
3.54
What is it then to be a tyrant, (or
3.54
What would you call pursuing serious things,)
3.54
In the Lyceum with the sophists; by Jove,
3.54
They are but thin and hungry joyless men.
3.54
And say the thing does not exist if now
3.54
It is produced; for that is not as yet,
3.54
Nor can already be produced, which now
3.54
Is caused afresh. Nor if it did exist
3.54
Before, can it be now made to exist.
3.54
For there is nothing which has no existence.
3.54
And that which never yet has taken place,
3.54
Is not as if it had, since it has not.
3.54
For it exists from its existence; but
3.54
If there is no existence, what is there
3.54
From which it can exist? The thing's impossible;
3.54
And if it's self-existent, it will not
3.54
Exist again. And one perhaps may say,
3.54
Let be; whence now can that which has no being
3.54
Exist, what can become of it? What all this means
3.54
I say that e'en Apollo's self can't tell.
3.55
Be of good cheer, I am a mighty bolt
3.55
To keep this fear away from you.
3.55
And the sailors let out the holder of the ship.
3.56
You were all day glutting yourselves with white milk.
3.56
Obey us now, and glut us with your melodies.
3.56
And we received him with all things which satisfy (πάγχοοτα).
3.56
I, O men, have now been well-satisfied (κεχόρτασμαι),
3.56
And I am quite well filled; so that I could
3.56
With all my energy but just contrive
3.56
To fasten on my sandals.
3.56
There will be an abundant deal of eating.
3.56
I see the prelude to it;-I shall surely be
3.56
Most fully satisfied; indeed, my men,
3.56
I swear by Bacchus I feel proud already.
3.56
Sating herself till eve with every dainty.
3.57
Every one is willing to die for his country (πάτρας):
3.57
And for a boiled paunch (μήτρας) Callimedon,
3.57
The dauntless crab, would very probably
3.57
Dare to encounter death.
3.57
While the wood has pith in it (ἔμμητρον) it puts forth shoots.
3.57
There is a metropolis but no patropolis.
3.57
Some men sell paunches (μῆτραι), a delicious food.
3.57
Metras, the Chian, is dear to the people.
3.57
But my master having prepared a paunch
3.57
Set it before Callimedon; and when he ate it
3.57
It made him leap with joy; from which he earn'd
3.57
The name of crab.
3.57
What food doth he delight in! Dainty is he!
3.57
Most dainty in his eating, paunches, sausages!
3.57
Amphides burst in the porch and made himself a way in;
3.57
Holding up two paunches fine, See for what I'm paying,
3.57
Said he, and send me all you have, or all that you can find me.
3.57
Liver, and tripe, and entrails, aye, and paunches.
3.58
I sail back to the self-same harbour whence
3.58
We previously were torn; and bid farewell
3.58
To all my horses, friends, and assafœtida,
3.58
And two horse chariots, and to cabbages,
3.58
And single-horses, and to salads green,
3.58
And fevers, and rich sauces.
3.58
But above all I do delight in dishes
3.58
Of paunches and of tripe from gelded beasts,
3.58
And love a fragrant pig within the oven.
3.58
But like a beauteous paunch of gelded pig
3.58
Well boil'd and white, and basted with rich cheese.
3.58
'Tis not a well boil'd slice of paunch of pig
3.58
Holding within a sharp and biting gravy.
3.58
That you may eat a slice of boil'd pig's paunch,
3.58
Dipping it in a bitter sauce of rue.
3.59
And always at the banquet crown your head
3.59
With flowing wreaths of varied scent and hue,
3.59
Culling the treasures of the happy earth;
3.59
And steep your hair in rich and reeking odours,
3.59
And all day long pour holy frankincense
3.59
And myrrh, the fragrant fruit of Syria,
3.59
On the slow slumb'ring ashes of the fire:
3.59
Then, when you drink, let slaves these luxuries bring—
3.59
Tripe, and the boiled paunch of well-fed swine,
3.59
Well soak'd in cummin juice and vinegar,
3.59
And sharp, strong-smelling assafœtida;
3.59
Taste, too, the tender well-roast birds, and game,
3.59
Whate'er may be in season. But despise
3.59
The rude uncivilized Sicilian mode,
3.59
Where men do nought but drink like troops of frogs,
3.59
And eat no solid seasoning. Avoid them.
3.59
And seek the meats which I enjoin thee here.
3.59
All other foods are only signs and proofs
3.59
Of wretched poverty: the green boil'd vetch,
3.59
And beans, and apples, and dried drums of figs.
3.59
But praise the cheesecakes which from Athens come;
3.59
And if there are none, still of any country
3.59
Cheesecakes are to be eaten; also ask
3.59
For Attic Honey, the feast's crowning dish—
3.59
For that it is which makes a banquet noble.
3.59
Thus should a free man live, or else descend
3.59
Beneath the earth, and court the deadly realms
3.59
Of Tartarus, buried deep beneath the earth
3.59
Innumerable fathoms.
3.60
A. You see me here a most attentive pupil
3.60
Of Epicurus, wisest of the Greeks,
3.60
From whom in two years and ten months or less,
3.60
I scraped together four good Attic talents.
3.60
B. What do you mean by this I pray thee, tell me,
3.60
Was he a cook, my master That is news.
3.60
A. Ye gods! and what a cook! Believe me, nature
3.60
Is the beginning and the only source
3.60
Of all true wisdom. And there is no art
3.60
At which men labour, which contains more wisdom.
3.60
So this our art is easy to the man
3.60
Who has drunk deep of nature's principles;
3.60
They are his guides: and therefore, when you see
3.60
A cook who is no scholar, nor has read
3.60
The subtle lessons of Democritus,
3.60
(Aye and he must remember them besides,)
3.60
Laugh at him as an ass; and if you hire one
3.60
Who knows not Epicurus and his rules,
3.60
Discharge him straightway. For a cook must know,
3.60
(I speak the words of sober truth, my friend,)
3.60
How great the difference is in summer time
3.60
Between the glaucisk of the winter-season;
3.60
He must know all the fish the Pleiades
3.60
Bring to us at their setting; what the solstice,
3.60
Winter and summer, gives us eatable—
3.60
For all the changes and the revolutions
3.60
Are fraught with countless evil to mankind,
3.60
Such changes do they cause in all their food.
3.60
Dost thou not understand me? And remember,
3.60
Whatever is in season must be good.
3.60
B. How few observe these rules.
3.60
A. From this neglect
3.60
Come spasms, and the flatulence which ill
3.60
Beseems a politic guest;-but all the food
3.60
I give my parties, wholesome is, and good,
3.60
Digestible and free from flatulence.
3.60
Therefore its juice is easily dissolved,
3.60
And penetrates the entire body's pores.
3.60
B. Juice, say you? This is not known to Democritus.
3.60
A. But all meats out of season make the eater
3.60
Diseased in his joints.
3.60
B. You seem to me,
3.60
To have studied too the art of medicine.
3.60
A. No doubt, and so does every one who seeks
3.60
Acquaintance with his nature's mysteries.
3.60
But see now, I do beg you by the gods,
3.60
How ignorant the present race of cooks are.
3.60
When thus you find them ignorant of the smell
3.60
Of all the varied dishes which they dress,
3.60
And pounding sesame in all their sauce.
3.60
What can be bad enough for such sad blunderers
3.60
B. You seem to speak as any oracle.
3.60
A. What good can e'er arise, where every quality
3.60
Is jumbled with its opposite in kind,
3.60
How different so ever both may be?
3.60
Now to discern these things is art and skill,
3.60
Not to wash dishes nor to smell of smoke.
3.60
For I do never enter a strange cook-shop,
3.60
But sit within such a distance as enables
3.60
My eyes to comprehend what is within.
3.60
My friends, too, do the same; I tell them all
3.60
The causes and results. This bit is sour,
3.60
Away with it; the man is not a cook,
3.60
Though he perhaps may be a music master:
3.60
Put in some fire; keep an equal heat.
3.60
The first dish scarcely suits the rest. Do you
3.60
Not see the form of th' art?
3.60
B. O, great Apollo!
3.60
A. What does this seem to you?
3.60
B. Pure skill; high art.
3.60
A. Then I no dishes place before my guests
3.60
At random; but while all things correspond
3.60
I regulate the whole, and will divide
3.60
The whole as best may suit, in fours, or fives;
3.60
And will consult each separate division-
3.60
And satisfy each party. Then again,
3.60
I stand afar off and directions give;
3.60
Whence bring you that? what shall you mix with this?
3.60
See how discordant those two dishes are!
3.60
Take care and shun such blunders. That will do.
3.60
Thus Epicurus did arrange his pleasures.
3.60
Thus wisely did he eat. He, only wise,
3.60
Saw what was good and what its nature was.
3.60
The Stoics seek in vain for such discoveries,
3.60
And know not good nor what the nature may be
3.60
Of good; and so they have it not; nor know
3.60
How to impart it to their friends and guests.
3.60
Enough of this. Do'st not agree with me?
3.60
B. Indeed i do, all things are plain to me.
3.61
A. You now have been the ruin of my son,
3.61
You wretch, you have persuaded him t' embark
3.61
In a course of life quite foreign to his habits
3.61
And former inclinations. You have taught him
3.61
To drink i' th' morning, quite beyond his wont.
3.61
B. Do you blame me that he has learnt to live?
3.61
A. Call you this living?
3.61
B. So the wise do say:
3.61
At all events the all wise Epicurus
3.61
Tells us that pleasure is the only good.
3.61
A. No doubt, and nobody can entertain
3.61
A different opinion. To live well
3.61
Must be to rightly live; is it not so?
3.61
Tell me, I pray thee, hast thou ever seen
3.61
Any philosopher confused with wine?
3.61
Or overtaken with those joys of yours
3.61
B. Aye, all of them. Those who lift up their brows,
3.61
Who look most solemn in the promenades,
3.61
And in their daily conversation,
3.61
Who turn their eyes away in high disdain
3.61
If you put plaice or turbot on their board,
3.61
Know for all that the fish's daintiest part.
3.61
Seek out the head, the fins; the sound, the roe,
3.61
And make men marvel at their gluttony.
3.62
Whoever is a mortal man, and thinks
3.62
This life has any sure possession,
3.62
Is woefully deceived. For either taxes
3.62
Take off his property; or he goes to law
3.62
And loses all he seeks, and all he has:
3.62
Or else he's made a magistrate, and bears
3.62
The losses they are subject to; or else
3.62
The people bid him a choragus be,
3.62
And furnish golden garments for a chorus;
3.62
And wear but rags himself. Or as a captain
3.62
Of some tall ship, he hangs himself; or else
3.62
Takes the command, and then is taken prisoner:
3.62
Or else, both waking and in soundest sleep,
3.62
He's helpless, pillaged by his own domestics.
3.62
Nothing is sure, save what a man can eat,
3.62
And treats himself to day by day. Nor then,
3.62
Is even this too sure. For guests drop in
3.62
To eat what you have order'd for yourself.
3.62
So not until you've got it 'twixt your teeth
3.62
Ought you to think that e'en your dinner's safe.
3.63
My man, you will destroy me in this way;
3.63
For you are ill and surfeited with all
3.63
The divers arguments of all the Stoics.
3.63
"Gold is no part of man, mere passing rime,
3.63
Wisdom's his real wealth, solid like ice;
3.63
No one who has it ever loses it."
3.63
Oh! wretched that I am; what cruel fate
3.63
Has lodged me here with this philosopher?
3.63
Wretch, you have learnt a most perverted learning;
3.63
Your books have turn'd your whole life upside down;
3.63
Buried in deep philosophy you talk
3.63
Of earth and heaven, both of which care little
3.63
For you and all your arguments.
3.64
It has been voted by the fish-sellers,
3.64
To raise a brazen statue to Callimedon
3.64
At the Panathenaic festival
3.64
In the midst of the fish-market; and the statue
3.64
Shall in his right hand hold a roasted crab,
3.64
As being the sole patron of their trade,
3.64
Which other men neglect and seek to crush.
3.64
A. Has any fish been bought? a cuttle-fish,
3.64
Or a broad squill, or else a polypus;
3.64
Or roasted mullet, or perhaps some beet-root?
3.64
B. Indeed there was not.
3.64
A. Or a roach or dace?
3.64
B. Nothing of such a sort?
3.64
A. Was there no black-pudding,
3.64
Nor tripe, nor sausage, nor boar's liver fried,
3.64
No honeycomb, no paunch of pig, no eel,
3.64
No mighty crab, with which you might recruit
3.64
The strength of women wearied with long toil
3.64
But passing over trifles, buy an astacus,
3.64
Which has long hands and heavy too, but feet
3.64
Of delicate smallness, and which slowly walks
3.64
Over the earth's face. A goodly troop there are
3.64
Of such, and those of finest flavour, where
3.64
The isles of Lipara do gem the ocean:
3.64
And many lie in the broad Hellespont.
3.64
There are astaci and colybdaenæ, both equipp'd
3.64
With little feet and long hands, both coming under
3.64
The name of κάραβος.
3.65
κᾀστακοὶ γαμψώνυχοι.
3.66
But if you ever come to Iasus,
3.66
A city of the Carians, you shall have
3.66
A cars of huge size, but rare to buy.
3.66
Many there are where Macedon is wash'd
3.66
By the deep sea, and in Ambracia's gulf.
3.66
The strangely bent carides did leap forth
3.66
Like dolphins into the rope-woven vessel.
3.66
Iput a carid (καρῖδα) down and took it up again.
3.66
And he plays with little carids (καριδάριον),
3.66
And little partridges, and little lettuces;
3.66
And little sparrows, and with little cups,
3.66
And little scindaries, and little gudgeons.
3.66
If you don't stoop, my friend, you'll upright be.
3.66
But she is like a carid (καριδόω) in her person;
3.66
Bent out, and like an anchor standing firm.
3.66
I'll make them redder than a roasted carid (καρῖδος).
3.66
And carids (καρῖδες) of the humpback'd sort.
3.66
There lay the crooked carids (καρῖδες) on dry ground.
3.66
And then they danced as crooked limbed carides (καρῖδες)
3.66
Dance on the glowing embers.
3.66
Once in Phæacia I ate carides (καρίδας).
3.66
Having the face of a tough thick-skinn'd carid (καρίδος).
3.67
Behold the dainty courides, my friend.
3.67
And see these lobsters; see how red they are,
3.67
How smooth and glossy is their hair and coats.
3.67
And red-skinned courides.
3.67
Oily anchovies, crooked corides.
3.67
Beet-root with thunnies, and with gudgeons corides.
3.68
And wrapping up the bread in the ἐπίπλοος.
3.68
Around the loins and ἐπίπλους.
3.68
Having wrapp'd it up in the ἐπίπλους.
3.69
First, then, I saw a man whose name was Nereus;
3.69
With noble oysters laden; an aged man,
3.69
And clad in brown sea-weed. I took the oysters
3.69
And eke some fine sea-urchins; a good prelude
3.69
To a rich banquet daintily supplied.
3.69
When they were done, next came some little fish,
3.69
Still quivering as if they felt a fear
3.69
Of what should now befal them. Courage, said I,
3.69
My little friends, and fear no harm from me;
3.69
And to spare them I bought a large flat glaucus.
3.69
Then a torpedo came; for it did strike me,
3.69
That even if my wife should chance to touch it
3.69
She from its shock would surely take no harm.
3.69
So for my frying-pan I've soles and plaice,
3.69
Carides, gudgeons, perch, and spars, and eels,
3.69
A dish more varied than a peacock's tail.
3.69
Slices of meat, and feet, and snouts, and ears,
3.69
And a pig's liver neatly wrapp'd in caul.
3.69
For by itself it looks too coarse and livid.
3.69
No cook shall touch or e'er behold these dainties;
3.69
He would destroy them all. I'll manage them
3.69
Myself; with skill and varied art the sauce
3.69
I will compound, in such a tasty way
3.69
That all the guests shall plunge their very teeth
3.69
Into the dish for joy and eagerness;
3.69
And the recipes and different modes of dressing
3.69
I am prepared to teach the world for nothing,
3.69
If men are only wise enough to learn.
3.70
I am undone, the tunic's treacherous folds
3.70
Have now entangled me to my destruction.
3.70
For you do seem to have no gall ἐφ’ ἥπατι (in your liver).
3.70
You thought that I'd no gall; but spoke to me
3.70
As if I'd been a ἥπατος: but I
3.70
Am rather one of the melampyx class.
3.71
Now each fair woman walks about the streets,
3.71
Fond of fried fish and stout Triballian youths.
3.71
Then there is beet-root and canary-grass
3.71
Mix'd up in forcemeat with the paunch of lamb,
3.71
Which leaps within one's stomach like a colt
3.71
Scarce broken to the yoke. Meanwhile the bellows
3.71
Waken the watchful hounds of Vulcan's pack,
3.71
And stir the frying-pan with vapours warm.
3.71
The fragrant steam straight rises to the nose,
3.71
And fills the sense with odours.
3.71
Then comes the daughter of the bounteous Ceres,
3.71
Fair wheaten flour, duly mash'd, and press'd
3.71
Within the hollow of the gaping jaws,
3.71
Which like the trireme's hasty shock comes on,
3.71
The fair forerunner of a sumptuous feast.
3.71
Go quickly, buy of them that polypus,
3.71
And fry the roe, and give it us to eat.
3.72
How well has Myrtilus, cursed by the gods,
3.72
Come now to shipwreck on this frying-pan.
3.72
My master comes from Thessaly; a man
3.72
Of temper stern; wealthy, but covetous;
3.72
A wicked man; a glutton; fond of dainties,
3.72
Yet sparing to bestow a farthing on them.
3.72
While still a boy, bearing my sister company,
3.72
I came to Athens, by some merchant brought;
3.72
For Syria was my birthplace. There that merchant
3.72
Saw us when we were both put up for sale,
3.72
And bought us, driving a most stingy bargain.
3.72
No man could e'er in wickedness surpass him;
3.72
So miserly, that nothing except thyme
3.72
Was ever bought by him for food, not e'en
3.72
So much as might have fed Pythagoras.
3.73
From thence, borne on by the south wind, we came
3.73
Across the sea to the Italian shore,
3.73
Where the Messapians dwelt; and Artus there,
3.73
The monarch of the land, received us kindly,
3.73
A great and noble host for foreigners.
3.73
What numerous nets and snares are set by men
3.73
To catch the helpless loaves;
3.74
And seeing there a tray before me full
3.74
Of smoking oven-loaves, I took and ate them.
3.74
I took the hot hearth-loaves, how could I help it?
3.74
And dipp'd them in sweet sauce, and then I at them.
3.74
I took a platter of hot clean hearth-loaves.
3.74
A. What was the matter?
3.74
B. My hot loaves, my son.
3.74
A. Sure you are mad?
3.74
B. My nice pan-loaves, my son,
3.74
So white, so hot. . . . . .
3.74
And nice hot twice-baked loaves.
3.74
A. But what are dipyri, or twice-baked loaves?
3.74
B. Of all loaves the most delicate.
3.74
The lagana are being baked.
3.75
Pan-loaves and homori, a dainty meal
3.75
For goddesses, and a half-loaf for Hecate.
3.75
Who dresses suet puddings or clibanites,
3.75
Or half-loaves here?
3.75
He feasted me till night with placite loaves.
3.75
I bid you now eat heartily,
3.75
For some one has just giv'n a tyron loaf,
3.75
Fragrant with cheese, to all the children.
3.75
Then he went forth, and bought some loaves, no nice
3.75
Clean rolls, but dirty huge Cilicians.
3.75
Having just eaten autopyrus bread.
3.75
With autopyrite loaves, and sweeten'd cakes
3.75
Of well-press'd figs and olives.
3.75
Each of you take a collabus.
3.75
Bring here a paunch of pig in autumn born,
3.75
With hot delicious collabi.
3.75
Here I come, bearing in my hands the offspring
3.75
Of three months' wheat, hot doughy collabi,
3.75
Mixed with the milk of the grass-feeding cow.
3.75
A large collyra, and a mighty lump
3.75
Of dainty meat upon it.
3.75
And a collyra for the voyagers,
3.75
Earn'd by the trophy raised at Marathon.'
3.76
Then perhaps some one bakes a penny loaf.
3.76
Olen, now roast a penny roll with ashes,
3.76
But take care, don't prefer it to a loaf.
3.76
Such was the size, O master, of the nastus,
3.76
A large white loaf. It was so deep, its top
3.76
Rose like a tower quite above its basket.
3.76
Its smell, when that the top was lifted up,
3.76
Rose up, a fragrance not unmix'd with honey
3.76
Most grateful to our nostrils, still being hot.
3.76
To bring loaves baked on ashes, strain'd through sieves.
3.76
First of all I an apopyrias have—
3.77
First, my dear Moschus, will I celebrate
3.77
The bounteous gifts of Ceres the fair-hair'd.
3.77
And cherish these my sayings in thy heart.
3.77
Take these most excellent things,—the well-made cake
3.77
Of fruitful barley, in fair Lesbos grown,
3.77
On the circumfluous hill of Eresus;
3.77
Whiter than driven snow, if it be true
3.77
That these are loaves such as the gods do eat,
3.77
Which Mercury their steward buys for them.
3.77
Good is the bread in seven-gated Thebes,
3.77
In Thasos, and in many other cities,
3.77
But all compared with these would seem but husks,
3.77
And worthless refuse. Be you sure of this.
3.77
Seek too the round Thessalian roll, the which
3.77
A maid's fair hand has kneaded, which the natives
3.77
Crimmatias call; though others chondrinus.
3.77
Nor let the Tegean son of finest flour,
3.77
The fine encryphias be all unpraised.
3.77
Athens, Minerva's famous city, sends
3.77
The best of loaves to market, food for men;
3.77
There is, besides, Erythra, known for grapes,
3.77
Nor less for a white loaf in shapely pan,
3.77
Carefully moulded, white and beautiful,
3.77
A tempting dish for hungry guests at supper.
3.77
Take care, and keep a Lydian in thy house,
3.77
Or an all-wise Phoenician; who shall know
3.77
Your inmost thoughts, and each day shall devise
3.77
New forms to please your mind, and do your bidding.
3.78
For how could any man of noble birth
3.78
Ever come forth from this luxurious house,
3.78
Seeing these fair-complexion'd wheaten loaves
3.78
Filling the oven in such quick succession,
3.78
And seeing them, devise fresh forms from moulds,
3.78
The work of Attic hands; well-train'd by wise
3.78
Thearion to honour holy festivals.
3.78
I come now, having left the baker's shop,
3.78
The seat of good Thearion's pans and ovens.
3.78
'Tis a hard thing, beholding Cyprian loaves,
3.78
To ride by carelessly; for like a magnet
3.78
They do attract the hungry passengers.
3.78
Eating the collix, baked in well-shaped pan,
3.78
By Alexander's Thessalian recipe.
3.78
All hail, my collix-eating young Bœotian.
3.80
Men with unwashen feet, who lie on the ground,
3.80
You roofless wanderers, all-devouring throats,
3.80
Feasting on other men's possessions,
3.80
Stranglers of dishes of white paunches,
3.81
Mention the cyllastis and the petosiris.
3.81
A. Then you are come at last?
3.81
B. Scarce could I find
3.81
A. A plague upon you;
3.81
But what now have you got?
3.81
B. I bring with me
3.81
Sixteen, a goodly number; eight of them
3.81
Tempting and white, and just as many phæi.
3.82
The thridacisca, and the cribanotus.
3.82
The amolgæan cake of barley made,
3.82
And milk of goats whose stream is nearly dry.
3.84
Some sorrily-clad fishermen did seek
3.84
To catch a lamprey; men who love to haunt
3.84
The Bosporus's narrow strait, well stored
3.84
With fish for pickling fit. They cut their prey
3.84
In large square portions, and then plunge them deep
3.84
Into the briny tub: nor is the oxyrhyncus
3.84
A kind to be despised by mortal man;
3.84
Which the bold sons of ocean bring to market
3.84
Whole and in pieces. Of the noble tunny
3.84
The fair Byzantium the mother is,
3.84
And of the scombrus lurking in the deep,
3.84
And of the well-fed ray. The snow-white Paros
3.84
Nurses the colius for human food;
3.84
And citizens from Bruttium or Campania,
3.84
Fleeing along the broad Ionian sea,
3.84
Will bring the orcys, which shall potted be,
3.84
And placed in layers in the briny cask,
3.84
Till honour'd as the banquet's earliest course.
3.84
For old salt-fish is fond of marjoram.
3.85
And a large slice of fat Sicilian tunny,
3.85
Carefully carved, should be immersed in brine.
3.85
But the saperdes is a worthless brute,
3.85
A delicacy fit for Ponticans
3.85
And those who like it. For few men can tell
3.85
How bad and void of strengthening qualities
3.85
Those viands are. The scombrus should be kept
3.85
Three days before you sprinkle it with salt,
3.85
Then let it lie half-pickled in the cask.
3.85
But when you come unto the sacred coast,
3.85
Where proud Byzantium commands the strait,
3.85
Then take a slice of delicate horeum,
3.85
For it is good and tender in those seas.
3.85
A sea-born turtle in the bitter waves
3.85
Bears in its skin the elephantine pickle;
3.85
And crabs swift as the wind, and thin-wing'd pike,
3.85
The text here is so corrupt as to be quite unintelligible.* * * * *
3.85
Sure comic poetry is a mighty food;
3.85
Listen to Crates, he will tell you, how
3.85
The elephantine pickle, easily made,
3.85
Is dainty seas'ning; many other jokes
3.85
Of the same kind he utter'd.
3.86
I wish now, sitting quiet by myself,
3.86
To ponder in my mind some dainty dishes;
3.86
And also to arrange what may be best
3.86
For the first course, and how I best may flavour
3.86
Each separate dish, and make it eatable.
3.86
Now first of all the pickled horæum comes;
3.86
This will but cost one penny; wash it well,
3.86
Then strew a large flat dish with seasoning,
3.86
And put in that the fish. Pour in white wine
3.86
And oil, then add some boil'd beef marrow-bones,
3.86
And take it from the fire, when the last zest
3.86
Shall be by assafœtida imparted.
3.86
A. Indeed you shall not half a farthing draw
3.86
From me, unless you name each separate dish.
3.86
B. That reasonable is.
3.86
A. Well, bring a slate
3.86
And pencil; now your items.
3.86
B. First, there is
3.86
Raw pickled fish, and that will fivepence cost.
3.86
A. What next
3.86
B. Some mussels, sevenpence for them.
3.86
A. Well, there's no harm in that. What follows next
3.86
B. A pennyworth of urchins of the sea.
3.86
A. Still I can find no fault.
3.86
B. The next in order
3.86
Is a fine dish of cabbage, which you said . . .
3.86
A. Well, that will do.
3.86
B. For that I paid just twopence.
3.86
A. What was't I said. . .
3.86
B. A cybium for threepence.
3.86
A. But are you sure you've nought embezzled here?
3.86
B. My friend, you've no experience of the market;
3.86
You know not how the grubs devour the greens.
3.86
A. But how is that a reason for your charging
3.86
A double price for salt-fish?
3.86
B. The greengrocer}
3.86
Is also a salt-fishmonger; go and ask him.
3.86
A conger, tenpence.
3.86
A. That is not too much.
3.86
What next?
3.86
B. I bought a roast fish for a drachma.
3.86
A. Bah! how he runs on now towards the end,
3.86
As if a fever had o'ertaken him.
3.86
B. Then add the wine, of which I bought three gallons
3.86
When you were drunk, ten obols for each gallon.
3.87
Scombri, and coliæ, and lebii,
3.87
And mulli, and saperdæ, and all tunnies.
3.88
If any one should wish for caviar
3.88
From mighty sturgeon, fresh from Cadiz' sea;
3.88
Or else delights in the Byzantine tunny,
3.88
And courts its fragrance.
3.88
Caviar from the sturgeon in the middle,
3.88
Fat, white as snow, and hot.
3.88
Let the Byzantine salt-fish triumph here,
3.88
And paunch from Cadiz, carefully preserved.
3.88
But, O ye earth and gods! I found a man,
3.88
An honest fishmonger of pickled fish,
3.88
Of whom I bought a huge fish ready scaled,
3.88
Cheap at a drachma, for two oboli.
3.88
Three days' hard eating scarcely would suffice
3.88
That we might finish it; no, nor a fortnight,
3.88
So far does it exceed the common size.
3.88
He then received the caviar from a sturgeon
3.88
Bred in the mighty Danube, dish much prized,
3.88
Half-fresh, half-pickled, by the wandering Scythians.
3.88
A slightly salt Mendesian in season,
3.88
And mullet roasted on the glowing embers.
3.89
All that I have amounts to this,
3.89
And I shall lose my pickled fish (ταρίχους).
3.89
I'm not ashamed to wash this fine salt-fish (τὺν τάριχον τουτονὶ),
3.89
From all the evils which I know he has.
3.89
And you must boil some greens, and roast some fish
3.89
And pickled fish likewise, (τοὺς ταρίχους,) and keep your hands
3.89
From doing any injury to us.
3.89
And fat pickled fish (τάριχος πίονα).
3.89
A pickled corpse (νεκρὸς τάριχος) Egyptian to behold.
3.89
Bring us some good ταρίχιον to the fields
3.89
Some middling meat, or some ταρίχιον.
3.89
The woman boil'd some pulse porridge, and lentils,
3.89
And so awaited each of us, and roasted
3.89
Besides an orphan small ταρίχιον.
3.89
Salt-fish (τάριχος) is done if it but see the fire.
3.89
Salt-fish (τάριχος) when too long kept loves marjoram.
3.89
Salt-fish (τάριχος) does never get its due from men.
3.89
Will you then eat some pickled fish (τοῦ ταρίχους), ye ods!
3.89
Beat therefore now upon this pickled fish (τῷ ταρίχει τῷδε).
3.89
I spread some salt upon the pickled fish (ἐπὶ τὸ τάριχος).
3.90
For 'twas salt-fish that made Athenians
3.90
And citizens of Chærephilus's sons.
3.90
And going to the salt-fish seller, him
3.90
I mean with whom I used to deal, there wait for me;
3.90
And if Euthynus be not come, still wait,
3.90
And occupy the man with fair excuses,
3.90
And hinder him from cutting up the fish.
3.90
There was another man, Phidippus hight,
3.90
A foreigner who brought salt-fish to Athens.
3.92
Then there was salt and pickled fish to eat,
3.92
Something not quite unlike melandryæ.
3.94
To drink the blood of hulls, and so prefer
3.94
The death of great Themistocles,
3.94
These things I say to you to give you pleasure,
3.94
Not wishing to do aught by violence:
3.94
And do thou, like wise men, just actions praise,
3.94
And keep thy hands and heart from unjust gain.
3.94
I think no words, if companied by gain,
3.94
Pernicious or unworthy.
3.95
I do not sing of ancient themes,
3.95
For all that's new far better seems.
3.95
Jove's the new king of all the world;
3.95
While anciently 'twas Saturn hurl'd
3.95
His thunders, and the Heavens ruled;
3.95
So I'll no longer be befool'd
3.95
With dotard's ancient songs.
3.95
Dost thou love things of modern fashion?
3.95
So too does he; for he is well assured
3.95
That new devices, though they be too bold,
3.95
Are better far than old contrivances.
3.95
Suppose a man who thinks himself a genius
3.95
Should something say, and I should contradict him,
3.95
Still trouble not yourself; but if you please,
3.95
Listen and give your best attention.
3.95
A cup of water boil'd; for when fresh-drawn
3.95
'Tis heavy, and indigestible to drink.
3.96
Warm for us now the brazen ewer quick,
3.96
And bid the slaves prepare the victims new,
3.96
That we may feast upon the entrails.
3.96
May I ne'er see a man
3.96
'Boiling me water in a bubbling pail;
3.96
For I have no disease, and wish for none.
3.96
But if I feel a pain within my stomach,
3.96
Or round about my navel, why I have
3.96
A ring I lately gave a drachma for
3.96
To a most skilful doctor.
3.96
But if you make our shop notorious,
3.96
I swear by Ceres, best of goddesses,
3.96
That I will empt the biggest ladle o'er you,
3.96
Filling it with hot water from the kettle;
3.96
And if I fail, may I ne'er drink free water more.
3.96
But the maid-servants pour'd forth water,
3.96
One pouring boiling water, and the other warm.
3.96
One called out to the slaves to bring hot water,
3.96
Another shouted for metaceras.
3.97
I wish to make you taste this icy water,
3.97
For I am proud of my well, whose limpid spring
3.97
Is colder than the Ararus.
3.97
Sure is not man a most superfluous plant,
3.97
Constantly using wondrous contradictions.
3.97
Strangers we love, and our own kin neglect;
3.97
Though having nothing, still we give to strangers.
3.97
We bear our share in picnics, though we grudge it,
3.97
And show our grudging by our sordidness.
3.97
And as to what concerns our daily food,
3.97
We wish our barley-cakes should white appear,
3.97
And yet we make for them a dark black sauce,
3.97
And stain pure colour with a deeper dye.
3.97
Then we prepare to drink down melted snow;
3.97
Yet if our fish be cold, we storm and rave.
3.97
Sour or acid wine we scorn and loathe,
3.97
Yet are delighted with sharp caper sauce.
3.97
And so, as many wiser men have said,
3.97
Not to be born at all is best for man;
3.97
The next best thing, to die as soon as possible.
3.97
But when I'm drunk I take a draught of snow,
3.97
And Egypt gives me ointment for my head.
3.97
He first perceived that snow was worth a price;
3.97
He ought to be the first to eat the honeycombs.
3.98
For no one ever would endure warm wine,
3.98
But on the contrary, we use our wells
3.98
To cool it in, and then we mix with snow.
3.98
A. Hermon, what is the matter? Where are we?
3.98
B. Nothing 's the matter, only that your father
3.98
Has just dropt down into the well to cool himself,
3.98
As men cool wine in summer.
3.98
Cool the wine quick, O Doris.
3.98
A. I want some water from a cistern now.
3.98
B. I have some here, and you are welcome to it.
3.98
Perhaps the cistern water is all lost.
3.98
In haste I loosed the bucket of the cistern,
3.98
And then that of the well; and took good care
3.98
To have the ropes all ready to let down.
3.99
I am not anxious for salt-fish, my girl.
3.99
But the Cilician here, this Hippocles,
3.99
This epicure of salt-fish sauce, this actor.
3.99
The cloak with which fierce Boreas clothed the brow
3.99
Of high Olympus, pierced ill-clothed man
3.99
While in its native Thrace; 'tis gentler now,
3.99
Caught by the breeze of the Pierian plain.
3.99
Let it be mine; for no one will commend
3.99
The man who gives hot water to a friend.
3.99
Lame, branded, old, a vagrant beggar, next
3.99
Came the cnisocolax, when Meles held
3.99
His marriage feast, seeking for gifts of soup,
3.99
Not waiting for a friendly invitation;
3.99
There in the midst the hungry hero stood,
3.99
Shaking the mud from off his ragged cloak.
3.99
You are a glutton and a fat-licker.
3.99
That pandar, with his fat-licking propensities,
3.99
Has bid me get for him this black blood-pudding.
3.99
The courtesan came in with sweet wine laden,
3.99
In a large silver cup, named petachnon,
3.99
Most beauteous to behold. Not a flat dish,
3.99
Nor long-neck'd bottle, but between the two.
3.100
But when you seek to dress a dainty dish
3.100
Of new-slain kid, or tender house-fed lamb,
3.100
Or poultry, take some unripe grains, and pound the
3.100
And strew them all in hollow plates, and stir them,
3.100
Mingled with fragrant oil. Then pour thereon
3.100
Warm broth, which take from out the dish before you,
3.100
That it be not too hot, and so boil over.
3.100
Then put thereon a lid, for when they're roasted,
3.100
The grains swell mightily; then slowly eat them,
3.100
Putting them to your mouth with hollow spoon.
3.100
Dealers in anchovies, dealers in wine;
3.100
Dealers in figs, and dealers in hides;
3.100
Dealers in meal, and dealers in spoons (μυστριοπώλης);
3.100
Dealers in books, and dealers in sieves;
3.100
Dealers in cheesecakes, and dealers in seeds.
3.100
But I am languid, weak for want of food.
3.101
A. What have you in your baskets there, my friend?
3.101
B. In three of them I've good Megarian groats.
3.101
A. Do they not say Thessalian are the best?
3.101
B. I also have some similago fetch'd
3.101
From the far distant land Phœnicia.
3.101
There's a large parcel of Thessalian groats.
3.101
He would boil soup, and then put in a fly,
3.101
And so would give it you to drink.
3.101
Of these two sorts of gentle semidalis.
3.101
Many nice eatables I have enjoy'd,
3.101
And had now three or four most pleasant draughts;
3.101
And feel quite frisky, eating as much food
3.101
As a whole troop of elephants.