_A._ Ye gods! and what a cook! Believe me, nature Is the beginning and the only source Of all true wisdom. And there is no art At which men labour, which contains more wisdom. So this our art is easy to the man Who has drunk deep of nature's principles; They are his guides: and therefore, when you see A cook who is no scholar, nor has read The subtle lessons of Democritus, (Aye and he must remember them besides,) Laugh at him as an ass; and if you hire one Who knows not Epicurus and his rules, Discharge him straightway. For a cook must know, (I speak the words of sober truth, my friend,) How great the difference is in summer time Between the glaucisk of the winter-season; He must know all the fish the Pleiades Bring to us at their setting; what the solstice, Winter and summer, gives us eatable-- For all the changes and the revolutions Are fraught with countless evil to mankind, Such changes do they cause in all their food. Dost thou not understand me? And remember, Whatever is in season must be good. _B._ How few observe these rules. _A._ From this neglect Come spasms, and the flatulence which ill Beseems a politic guest;--but all the food I give my parties, wholesome is, and good, Digestible and free from flatulence. Therefore its juice is easily dissolved, And penetrates the entire body's pores. _B._ Juice, say you? This is not known to Democritus. _A._ But all meats out of season make the eater Diseased in his joints. _B._ You seem to me, To have studied too the art of medicine. _A._ No doubt, and so does every one who seeks Acquaintance with his nature's mysteries. But see now, I do beg you by the gods, How ignorant the present race of cooks are. When thus you find them ignorant of the smell Of all the varied dishes which they dress, And pounding sesame in all their sauce. What can be bad enough for such sad blunderers? _B._ You seem to speak as any oracle.