Aufidius used Falernian, rich and strong,
To mingle with his honey:  he did wrong: 
For when the veins are empty, ’tis not well
To pour in fiery drinks to make them swell: 
Mild gentle draughts will better do their part
In nourishing the cockles of the heart. 
In costive cases, limpets from the shell
Are a cheap way the evil to dispel,
With groundling sorrel:  but white Coan neat
You’ll want to make the recipe complete. 
For catching shell-fish the new moon’s the time,
But there’s a difference between clime and clime;
Baiae is good, but to the Lucrine yields;
Circeii ranks as best for oyster-fields;
Misenum’s cape with urchins is supplied;
Flat bivalve mussels are Tarentum’s pride.

Let no man fancy he knows how to dine
Till he has learnt how taste and taste combine. 
’Tis not enough to sweep your fish away
From the dear stall, and chuckle as you pay,
Not knowing which want sauce, and which when broiled
Will tempt a guest whose appetite is spoiled.

The man who hates wild boars that eat like tame
Gets his from Umbria, genuine mast-fed game: 
For the Laurentian beast, that makes its fat
Off sedge and reeds, is flavourless and flat. 
The flesh of roes that feed upon the vine
Is not to be relied on when you dine. 
With those who know what parts of hare are best
You’ll find the wings are mostly in request. 
Fishes and fowls, their nature and their age,
Have oft employed the attention of the sage;
But how to solve the problem ne’er was known
By mortal palate previous to my own.

There are whose whole invention is confined
To novel sweets:  that shows a narrow mind;
As if you wished your wines to be first-rate,
But cared not with what oil your fish you ate. 
Put Massic wine to stand ’neath a clear sky
All night, away the heady fumes will fly,
Purged by cool air:  if ’tis through linen strained,
You spoil the flavour, and there’s nothing gained. 
Who mix Surrentine with Falernian dregs
Clear off the sediment with pigeons’ eggs: 
The yolk goes down; all foreign matters sink
Therewith, and leave the beverage fit to drink. 
’Tis best with roasted shrimps and Afric snails
To rouse your drinker when his vigour fails: 
Not lettuce; lettuce after wine ne’er lies
Still in the stomach, but is sure to rise: 
The appetite, disordered and distressed,
Wants ham and sausage to restore its zest;
Nay, craves for peppered viands and what not,
Fetched from some greasy cookshop steaming hot.