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And now we have had enough of cooks, my feasters; lest perhaps some one of them, pluming himself and quoting the Morose Man of Menander, may spout such lines as these—
No one who does a cook an injury
Ever escapes unpunish'd; for our art
Is a divine and noble one.
But I say to you, in the words of the tuneful Diphilus—
I place before you now a lamb entire,
Well skewer'd, and well cook'd and season'd;
Some porkers in their skins, and roasted whole;
And a fine goose stuff'd full, like Dureus.

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