MASTER COOK. 
Behold in me a pupil of the school
Of the sage Epicurus.

FRIEND. 
Thou a sage!

              MASTER COOK. 

Ay!  Epicurus too was sure a cook,
And knew the sovereign good.  Nature his study,
While practice perfected his theory. 
Divine philosophy alone can teach
The difference which the fish Glociscus[124] shows
In winter and in summer:  how to learn
Which fish to choose, when set the Pleiades,
And at the solstice.  ’Tis change of seasons
Which threats mankind, and shakes their changeful frame. 
This dost thou comprehend?  Know, what we use
In season, is most seasonably good!

                      FRIEND. 
    Most learned cook, who can observe these canons

                MASTER COOK. 

And therefore phlegm and colics make a man
A most indecent guest.  The aliment
Dress’d in my kitchen is true aliment;
Light of digestion easily it passes;
The chyle soft-blending from the juicy food
Repairs the solids.

                      FRIEND. 
                Ah! the chyle! the solids! 
    Thou new Democritus! thou sage of medicine! 
    Versed in the mysteries of the Iatric art!

                MASTER COOK. 

Now mark the blunders of our vulgar cooks! 
See them prepare a dish of various fish,
Showering profuse the pounded Indian grain,
An overpowering vapour, gallimaufry
A multitude confused of pothering odours! 
But, know, the genius of the art consists
To make the nostrils feel each scent distinct;
And not in washing plates to free from smoke. 
I never enter in my kitchen, I! 
But sit apart, and in the cool direct,
Observant of what passes, scullions’ toil.

                      FRIEND. 
    What dost thou there?

MASTER COOK. 
I guide the mighty whole;
Explore the causes, prophesy the dish. 
’Tis thus I speak:  “Leave, leave that ponderous ham;
Keep up the fire, and lively play the flame
Beneath those lobster patties; patient here,
Fix’d as a statue, skim, incessant skim. 
Steep well this small Glociscus in its sauce,
And boil that sea-dog in a cullender;
This eel requires more salt and marjoram;
Roast well that piece of kid on either side
Equal; that sweetbread boil not over much.” 
’Tis thus, my friend, I make the concert play.

FRIEND.

O man of science! ’tis thy babble kills!

MASTER COOK.

And then no useless dish my table crowds;
Harmonious ranged, and consonantly just.

FRIEND.

Ha! what means this?

MASTER COOK.

                       Divinest music all! 

As in a concert instruments resound,
My ordered dishes in their courses chime. 
So Epicurus dictated the art
Of sweet voluptuousness, and ate in order,
Musing delighted o’er the sovereign good! 
Let raving Stoics in a labyrinth
Run after virtue; they shall find no end. 
Thou, what is foreign to mankind, abjure.