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 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.

(Book ix. § 68, p. 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; But to the financier, with costly niceness, Glociscus rare, or rarity more rare. Insensible the palate of old age, More difficult than the soft lips of youth To move, I put much mustard in their dish; With quickening sauces make their stupor keen, And lash the lazy blood that creeps within.—

