With rolling months to go the round;
And, as the sunshine's short or long,
Yield flavours exquisite or strong:
Fishes, 'tis known, as seasons vary,
Are delicate, or quite 'contrary;'
The tribes of air, like those of fin,
Change with each sign the sun goes in:
So that who only knows what cheer,
Not when to buy's no cook, 'tis clear.
A cook who would his kitchen show,