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.
Cumberland.
Anthippus. (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.—D'Israeli.
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