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 Slave. Good-bye; you fit your master to a wrinkle.

Cook. It is we cooks who clip the victim's hair, And sacrifice, and offer up libations, Because the gods attend to us especially, As it was we who made these great discoveries, Which tend especially towards holy living.

Slave. Pray leave off talking about piety!

Cook. I beg your pardon. Come and take a snack Along with me, and get the things prepared.—

(Book xiv. § 81, p. 1057.)

On the light wring of Zephyr that thitherward blows, What a dainty perfume has invaded my nose; And sure in yon copse, if we carefully look, Dwells a dealer in scents, or Sicilian cook!—W. J. B.

(Book xiv. § 81, p. 1058.)

Good, good, Sibynna! Ours is no art for sluggards to acquire, Nor should the hour of deepest midnight see Us and our volumes parted:—still our lamp Upon its oil is feeding, and the page Of ancient lore before us:—What, what hath The Sicyonian deduced?—What school-points Have we from him of Chios? sagest Actides And Zopyrinus, what are their traditions?— Thus grapple we with mighty tomes of wisdom, Sifting and weighing and digesting all.—

(Book xv. § 42, p. 1103.)

A. Milesian hangings line your walls, you scent Your limbs with sweetest perfume, royal myndax Piled on the burning censer fills the air With costly fragrance.

B. Mark you that, my friend! Knew you before of such a fumigation?—