Then groan'd the second tables laden high,
Where grapes and cool pomegranates please the eye,
The lusty apple, and the juicy pear—
Yet nought I touch'd, supinely lounging there;
But when the huge round cake of golden hue,
Ceres best offspring, met my raptured view,
No more these hands their eager grasp restrain,
How should such gift celestial tempt in vain?
D. K. Sandford.
Alexis. (Book iv. § 58, p. 264.)
How fertile in new tricks is Chærephon,
To sup scot-free and everywhere find welcome!
Spies he a broker's door with pots to let?
There from the earliest dawn he takes his stand,
To see whose cook arrives; from him he learns
Who 'tis that gives the feast,—flies to the house,
Watches his time, and, when the yawning door
Gapes for the guests, glides in among the first.
J. A. St. John.
Anaxippus. (Book iv. § 68, p. 271.)
Soup-ladle, flesh-hook, mortar, spit,
Bucket and haft, with tool to fit,
Such knives as oxen's hides explore,
Add dishes, be they three or more.—Mitchell.
Timocles. (Book vi. § 2, p. 354.)
Nay, my good friend, but hear me! I confess
Man is the child of sorrow, and this world,
In which we breathe, hath cares enough to plague us:
But it hath means withal to soothe these cares,
And he, who meditates on other's woes,
Shall in that meditation lose his own:
Call then the tragic poet to your aid,
Hear him, and take instruction from the stage:
Let Telephus appear; behold a prince,
A spectacle of poverty and pain,
