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Slave. What? is the matter thus ?
Cook.

Yes, you Barbarian!

It freed us from a beast-like, faithless life,
And hateful cannibalism, and introduced us
To order, and enclosed us in the world
Where we now live.

Slave.
Cook.

How?

Listen, and I'll tell you.

When cannibalism and many other crimes
Were rife, a certain man, who was no fool,
Slaughter'd a victim and then roasted it.

So, when they found its flesh nicer than man's flesh,
They did not eat each other any longer,

But sacrificed their beasts and roasted them.
And when they once had tasted of this pleasure,
And a beginning had been made, they carried
To greater heights the art of cookery.

Hence, from remembrance of the past, men roast
E'en to the present day the gods' meat-offerings
Without employing salt; for in olden times
It had not yet been used for such a purpose;
So when their taste changed afterwards, they ate
Salt also with their meat, still strictly keeping
Their fathers' custom in the rites prescribed them.
All which new ingenuity, and raising
To greater heights the art of cookery,
By means of sauces, has alone become
The cause of safety unto all of us.

Slave. This fellow is a fresh Palæphatus!

Cook. Then, after this, as time was now advancing,
One person introduced a season'd haggis;
Another stew'd a kid right exquisitely,

Or made some mince-meat, or slipp'd in a fish
Disguised so quaintly that no eye observed it,
Or greens, or pickled fish, or wheat, or honey.
When through the pleasures that I'm now explaining,
Each man was far removed from ever wishing
To eat a portion of a human corpse;
They all agreed to live with one another-
A populace collected-towns were built-
All through the cooking art, as I have shown.

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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.-ANON.

CRATINUS. (Book xiv. § 81, p. 1057.)

On the light wing 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.

BATO. (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.-ANON.

AMPHIS. (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?-J. A. ST. JOHN.

ALEXIS. (Book xv. § 44, p. 1105.)

Nor fell

His perfumes from a box of alabaster;
That were too trite a fancy, and had savour'd
O' the elder time-but ever and anon

He slipp'd four doves, whose wings were saturate
With scents, all different in kind--each bird
Bearing its own appropriate sweets:-these doves,
Wheeling in circles round, let fall upon us

A shower of sweet perfumery, drenching, bathing
Both clothes and furniture-and lordlings all-
I deprecate your envy, when I add,

That on myself fell floods of violet odours.-MITCHELL.

SIMONIDES. (Book xv. § 50, p. 1110.)

Oh! Health, it is the choicest boon Heaven can send us,
And Beauty's arms, bright and keen, deck and defend us;
Next follows honest Wealth-riches abounding-

And Youth's pleasant holidays-friendship surrounding.
D. K. SANDFORD.

(Book xv. § 50, p. 1110.)

With his claw the snake surprising,

Thus the crab kept moralizing :

"Out on sidelong turns and graces,

Straight's the word for honest paces!"-D. K. SANDFORD.

CALLISTRATUS. (Book xv. § 50, p. 1111.)

Wreathed with myrtles be my glaive,

Like the falchion of the brave,

Death to Athens' lord that gave,

Death to tyranny!

Yes! let myrtle-wreaths be round

Such as then the falchion bound,

When with deeds the feast was crown'd

Done for liberty!

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Voiced by Fame eternally,

Noble pair! your names shall be,
For the stroke that made us free,
When the tyrant fell.

Death, Harmodius! came not near thee,
Isles of bliss and brightness cheer thee,
There heroic breasts revere thee,

There the mighty dwell!-D. K. SANDFORD.

The same.

With myrtle wreathed I'll wear my sword,
As when ye slew the tyrant lord,
And made Athenian freedom brighten ;
Harmodius and Aristogiton!

--

Thou art not dead-it is confess'd-
But haunt'st the Islands of the Blest,-
Beloved Harmodius !—where Pelides,
The swift-heel'd, dwells, and brave Tydides.
With myrtle wreathed I'll wear my sword,
As when ye slew the tyrant lord
Hipparchus, Pallas' festal night on;
Harmodius and Aristogiton!

Because ye slew the tyrant, and

Gave Athens freedom, through the land
Your flashing fame shall ever lighten;
Harmodius and Aristogiton!-WALSH.

The same.

I'll wreathe my sword in myrtle-bough,
The sword that laid the tyrant low,
When patriots, burning to be free,
To Athens gave equality.

Harmodius, hail! though 'reft of breath,
Thou ne'er shalt feel the stroke of death;

The heroes' happy isles shall be

The bright abode allotted thee.

I'll wreathe my sword in myrtle bough,
The sword that laid Hipparchus low,
When at Athena's adverse fane
He knelt, and never rose again.
While Freedom's name is understood,
You shall delight the wise and good;
You dared to set your country free,
And gave her laws equality.-BLAND.

The same.

In myrtle my sword will I wreathe,
Like our patriots the noble and brave,
Who devoted the tyrant to death,
And to Athens equality gave.

Loved Harmodius, thou never shalt die !
The poets exultingly tell
That thine is the fulness of joy

Where Achilles and Diomed dwell.
In myrtle my sword will I wreathe,
Like our patriots the noble and brave,
Who devoted Hipparchus to death,

And buried his pride in the grave,
At the altar the tyrant they seized,

While Athena he vainly implored.
And the Goddess of Wisdom was pleased
With the victim of Liberty's sword.
May your bliss be immortal on high,
Among men as your glory shall be!
Ye doom'd the usurper to die,

And bade our dear country be free.-D.

The same.

In myrtles veil'd will I the falchion wear;
For thus the patriot sword

Harmodius and Aristogeiton bare,

When they the tyrant's bosom gored; And bade the men of Athens be

Regenerate in equality.

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