Father. Not one, but all,
All, who march forth with supercilious brow
High arch'd with pride, beating the city-rounds,
Like constables in quest of rogues and outlaws,
To find that prodigy in human nature,
A wise and perfect man! What is your science
But kitchen-science? wisely to descant
Upon the choice bits of a savoury carp,
And prove by logic that his summum bonum
Lies in his head; there you can lecture well,