Three pitchers, at ten obols to the pitcher.—Mitchell.
Matron.[147] (Book iv. § 13, p. 220.)
The feast, for cookery's various cates renown'd,
By Attic host bestow'd, O Muse! resound.
There too I went, with hunger in my train,
And saw the loaves by hundreds pour'd amain,
Beauteous to view, and vast beyond compare,
Whiter than snow, and sweet as wheaten fare.
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