On the board, we sup on tears.
My good man, once so strong and hale,
On this fare grows very pale;
For our best and daintiest cheer,
Through the bright half of the year,
Is but acorns, onions, peas,
Ochros, lupines, radishes,
Vetches, wild pears nine or ten,
With a locust now and then.
As to figs, the Phrygian treat,