_Petr._ Cæsar, there’s one art Has not been mentioned; though I think at table It should not be passed o’er. 1581 _Ner._ What art is that? _Petr._ I shall contend it is the first of all. _Ner._ Name it. _Petr._ It hath no name. It scarce exists. I think the goddess never walked the earth. _Par._ Ranks she with poetry? _Petr._ I avouch above. _Par._ Cæsar, if this be proved, thou must rescind Thy poet’s sentence. _Ner._ Let him prove it first. _Petr._ I see in other arts some wit or fancy Extrinsical to nature. I can find No ground of need in any, save maybe 1590 In architecture,—which ranks not so well As to be mentioned by you.—Now, if I Show you an art whose matter every day Is life’s necessity, which gives more scope To skill than any other, which delights Among the senses one which the other arts Wholly neglect, would you not say this art Hath the first claim? See, I could live without The joys of harmony, colour, or form, But without this it were impossible 1600 To outlast the week. _Par._ Oh! Cookery. _Several._ Cookery, cookery! _Petr._ There’s the mistake I gird at. None of you But thinks this art I speak of, which includes Pleasures of entertainment, ease and elegance, The mind’s best recreation, the satisfaction Of the body’s nearest needs, the preservation Of health, and with all this, the gratifying Of that one sense, which above all the senses Is subtle, difficult, discerning, ticklish, And most importunate,—that this great art 1610 Is a cook’s province. _Ner._ True, Petronius, true; There’s room for bettering these things. _Petr._ Why, wine— Just think of wine. A hundred vintages Lie in my cellar; by my taste I tell Each one; are eye or ear so delicate? _Par._ Here’s half a case already.