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• The Religious Pilgrimage.
• ΙΧΘϒΟΦΑΓΙΑ.
• The Funeral.
• Echo.
• ΠΟΛϒΔΑΙΤΙΑ, Or, the Unequal Feast.
• Of Things and Words.
• Charon.
• The Assembly of Grammarians.
• ΑΓΑΜΟΣ ΓΑΜΟΣ, Or, the Unequal Marriage.
• The Imposture.
• Cyclops, Or the Gospel-carrier.
• ΑΠΡοΣΔΙοΝϒΣΑ the Impertinents, Or Crosspurposes.
• The False Knight: Or, ΙΠΠΕϒΣ ΑΝΙΠΠΟΣ·
• ΑΣΤΡΑΓΑΛΙΣΜΟΣ.
• ΓϒΝΑΙΚΟΣϒΝΕΔΡΙΟΝ. the Assembly Or Parliament of Women.
• Diluculum: Or, the Early Rising.
• ΝΗΦΑΛΙοΝ ΣϒΜΠοΣΙοΝ. the Sober Feast.
• The Notable Art.
• The Sermon, Or Merdardus.
• The Lover of Glory.
• Opulentia Sordida, Or the Wealthy Miser.
• The Seraphick Funeral.
• Amicitia, Or Friendship.
• Problema.
• The Epicurean.
• The Conflict Between Thalia and Barbarism.
• Des. Erasmus of Rotterdam to the Reader,: Concerning the Profitableness of Colloquies.
• Erasmus of Rotterdam, of the Method of Study, to Christianus of Lubeck.

OPULENTIA SORDIDA, or the WEALTHY MISER.

The Argument.

JAMES and GILBERT.

JA.

How comes it about that you are so lean and meagre? you look as if you had liv’d upon Dew with the Grass-hopper; you seem to be nothing but a mere Skeleton.

Gil.

In the Regions below, the Ghosts feed upon Leeks and Mallows; but I have been these ten Months where I could not come at so much as them.

Ja.

Where is that, prithee? what, have you been in the Galleys?

No, I have been at Synodium.

Ja.

What, starv’d to Death almost in so plentiful a Country?

Gil.

’Tis true as I tell you.

Ja.

What was the Occasion of it? what, had you no Money?

Gil.

I neither wanted Money nor Friends.

Ja.

What the Mischief was the Matter then?

Gil.

Why, you must know I boarded with Antronius.

Ja.

What, with that rich old Cuff?

Gil.

Yes, with that sordid Hunks.

Ja.

’Tis very strange, methinks.

Gil.

Not strange at all; for by this sordid Way of living, they that have little or nothing to begin the World with, scrape together so much Wealth.

Ja.

But how came you to take a Fancy to live for so many Months with such a Landlord?

Gil.

There was a certain Affair that oblig’d me to it, and I had a Fancy so to do likewise.

Ja.

But prithee tell me after what Manner he lives.

Gil.

I’ll tell you, since ’tis a Pleasure to recount the Hardships one has sustain’d.

Ja.

It will certainly be a Pleasure to me to hear it.

Gil.

Providence so order’d it, that the Wind sat full North for three Months together, only it did not blow from the same Point above eight Days together; but I can’t tell the Reason of it.

Ja.

How then could it blow North for three Months together?

Gil.

Why, upon the eighth Day, as if by Agreement, it shifted its Station; where, after it had continu’d some seven or eight Hours, then it veer’d to the old Point again.

Ja.

In such a Place as that your Callicoe Body had Need have a good Fire to keep it warm.

Gil.

We had had Fire enough, if we had but had Wood enough: but our Landlord Antronius, to save Charges, us’d to grub up old Stumps of Trees in the Common, that no p. 268 Body thought worth While to get but himself; and would get them by Night: And of these, green as they were, our Fire was commonly made, which us’d to smoke plentifully, but would not flame out; so that tho’ it did not warm us at all, yet we could not say there was no Fire. One of these Fires would last us a whole Day, they burnt so deliberately.

Ja.

This was a bad Place for a Man to pass the Winter in.

Gil.

It was so; but it was a great Deal worse to pass a Summer in.

Ja.

Why so?

Gil.

Because there was such a Multitude of Fleas and Bugs, that there was no being quiet in the Day-Time, nor sleeping in the Night.

Ja.

What a wretched Wealth was here?

Gil.

Few were wealthier in this Sort of Cattle.

Ja.

Sure your Women were lazy Sluts.

Gil.

They were mew’d up in an Apartment by themselves, and seldom came among the Men; so that you have nothing of ’em but the Name of Women: And the Men are forc’d to go without those Services which properly belong to that Sex in other Families.

Ja.

But how could Antronius away with all this Nastiness?

Gil.

Pshaw, he was us’d to it from his Cradle, and minded nothing in the World but getting of Money. He lov’d to be any where but at Home, and traded in every Thing you can think of. You know that City is a great Town, of the greatest Commerce and Business: What’s-his-Name the famous Painter thought that Day was lost, wherein he did not employ his Pencil; and our Antronius look’d upon himself undone, if one single Day pass’d over his Head without some Profit. And if such a Disaster happen’d to him, he did not fail one Way or other to make it up at Home.

Ja.

What did he do?

Gil.

Why, he had a Cistern of Water in the House, as most People in that City have, whence he us’d to draw so many Buckets of Water, and put it into his Hogsheads of Wine. This was a most certain Profit.

Ja.

I suppose the Wine was something of the strongest then?

Gil.

Far from that, for it was as dead as Ditch-Water; for he never bought any but what was decay’d to his Hand, that he might buy it at an easier Rate: And that he might not lose a Drop of this, he us’d to mix and jumble the Grounds of at least ten Years standing, and set them a fermenting, that it might pass for new Wine upon the Lees; and would not lose a Drop of the Dregs neither.

Ja.

If we may believe the Physicians, such Wine will certainly breed the Stone.

Gil.

There were no Doctors there, I’ll assure you: and in the most healthful Years, two or three at least of the Family died of that Distemper; but he never troubled his Head about that, how many Burials went out of the House.

Ja.

No?

Gil.

He made a Penny even of the Dead. And there was no Gain he was asham’d to take, tho’ it was never so small.

Ja.

Under your Favour this was downright Theft tho’.

Gil.

Your Merchants term it, turning an honest Penny.

Ja.

But what Sort of Liquor did Antronius drink all the While?

Gil.

Almost the very same Nectar that I told you of.

Ja.

Did he find no Harm by it?

Gil.

He was as hard as a Flint, he could have lived upon chopt Hay; and, as I told you before, he had been us’d to fare hard from his Infancy. And he look’d upon this dashing and brewing to be a certain Profit to him.

Ja.

How so, I beseech you?

Gil.

If you reckon his Wife, his Sons, his Daughters, his Son-in-Law, his Men-Servants, and his Maid-Servants, he had about thirty-three Mouths in the Family to feed. Now the more he corrected his Wine with Water, the less of it was drunk, and the longer it was drawing off; so then if p. 270 you compute a large Bucket of Water thrown in every Day, it will amount to no small Sum, let me tell you, at the Year’s End.

Ja.

A sordid Fellow!

Gil.

This was not all, he made the same Advantage of his Bread too.

Ja.

How could he do that?

Gil.

He bought musty Wheat, such as no Body else would buy but himself. Now, in the first Place, here was a present Gain, because he bought it so much cheaper; and then he had an Art to cure the Mustiness.

Ja.

But prithee how did he do that?

Gil.

There is a Sort of Chalk, not altogether unlike to Corn, which you may see Horses are delighted with, when they gnaw it out of the Walls, and drink more freely out of that Pond-Water where this Chalk is to be found. He mixed one third Part at least of this Earth with his Bread.

Ja.

And do you call this curing of it?

Gil.

This is certain, that it made the Mustiness of the Corn be not altogether so perceiveable; and now, was not this a considerable Profit? He had another Stratagem besides that, for he bak’d his own Bread at Home, which, in the very Midst of Summer, he never did oftner than twice in a Month.

Ja.

Sure it must be more like Stones than Bread for Hardness.

Gil.

Nay, harder than a Stone, if possible; but we had a Remedy for that too.

Ja.

What was that?

Gil.

We us’d to soke Slices of this Bread in Bowls of Wine.

Ja.

The Devil a Barrel the better Herring. But how did the Servants like this Treatment?

Gil.

I will first tell you how the top Folks of the Family were serv’d, and then you may easily guess how the Servants far’d.

Ja.

I long to hear it.

Gil.

There was not a Word to be mention’d about Breakfast; and as for Dinner, that was generally deferr’d till one of the Clock in the Afternoon.

Ja.

Why so?

Gil.

We waited for the Master of the Family’s coming Home, and then we seldom went to Supper before ten.

Ja.

But how did you bear it? you us’d to be very impatient for your Victuals.

Gil.

I call’d ever and anon upon Orthrogonus, our Landlord’s Son-in-Law, who lay upon the same Floor with myself: Soho, Monsieur, said I, do you make no Dining to Day at Synodium? He answer’d, Antronius will be here in a Minute. Then finding not the least Motion towards Dinner, and my Guts very mutinous; Hark you, Orthrogonus, said I, do you design to starve us to Day? Then he would persuade me it was not so late, or put me off with some such Pretence. Then, not being able to bear the Bawling my Bowels made, I interrupted him again: What do you mean, said I, to starve us to Death? When he found he had no more Excuses to make, he went down to the Servants, and order’d them to lay the Cloth. But at last, when no Antronius came, and Dinner seem’d to be as far off as ever, Orthrogonus, wearied with the Noise I made in his Ears, went to the Apartment where his Wife and Mother, and Children were, bidding them get Dinner ready.

Ja.

Well, now I expect to hear of the Dinner.

Gil.

Pray don’t be so hasty. Then there came a lame Fellow, just such another as Vulcan, who laid the Cloth, for that it seems was his Province; this was the first Hope we had of Dinner; and at last, after I had bawl’d a long Time, a Glass Bottle of fair Water is brought in.

Ja.

Well, now there’s more Hope.

Gil.

But I tell you, don’t be too hasty. Again, not without a great Deal of knocking and calling, in comes a Bottle of the Wine I spoke of, as thick with Dregs as Puddle-Water.

Ja.

That’s well, however.

But not a Bit of Bread came along with it; tho’ there was no great Danger we should touch it; for scarce any Body would, had they been ever so hungry. Then I fell to calling till I was hoarse again; and at last the Bread comes, but such as a Bear could scarce bite of.

Ja.

Well, now there was no Danger of starving.

Gil.

Late in the Afternoon Home comes Antronius, and generally with this unlucky Pretence, that his Belly ach’d.

Ja.

But what was that to you?

Gil.

Thus much, that we were to go Supperless to Bed! for what could you expect when the Master of the House is out of Order?

Ja.

But was he sick in good Earnest?

Gil.

So sick that he would have devour’d you three Capons to his own Share, if you would have treated him.

Ja.

I am impatient to hear your Bill of Fare.

Gil.

First of all there is a Plate full of grey Peas brought in, such as old Women cry about the Streets, and this was for our Landlord’s own eating: He pretended that this was his Remedy against all Diseases.

Ja.

How many Guests were there of you at Table?

Gil.

Sometimes eight or nine; among whom was one Verpius, a learned Gentleman, to whose Character I suppose you are no Stranger, and our Landlord’s eldest Son.

Ja.

What was their Mess?

Gil.

Why, the same that Melchisedek offer’d to Abraham, after he had conquer’d the five Kings; and was not that enough for any reasonable Man?

Ja.

But was there no Meat?

Gil.

There was Meat, but there was but a very little of it.

Ja.

What was it?

Gil.

I remember we were once nine of us at Table, when there were no more then seven small Lettice Leaves swimming in Vinegar, but not a Drop of Oil to make ’em slip down.

Ja.

But did your Landlord eat all his grey Peas himself?

Gil.

You must know there was scarce a Farthing-worth of them, however he did not absolutely forbid those that sat next him to taste them, but it look’d uncivil to rob a sick Man of his Victuals.

Ja.

But were not your Lettice Leaves split, to make the greater Show?

Gil.

Why truly they were not; but when those that sat at the upper End of the Table had eaten up the Leaves, the rest sop’d their Bread in the Vinegar.

Ja.

But what, I pray, came after these Lettice Leaves?

Gil.

What? what should come but Cheese, the last Dish at Dinner?

Ja.

But was this your daily Fare?

Gil.

Generally speaking it was; but now and then, if the old Gentleman had the good Luck to get Money in the Way of Trade that Day, he would be a little more generous.

Ja.

How did you fare then?

Gil.

Why, then he would send out to buy a Pennyworth of fresh Grapes, at nine Bunches a Penny: this made the whole Family sing O be joyful.

Ja.

Why not?

Gil.

But then you must understand too, that this was never but when Grapes were dog-cheap.

Ja.

What then, did he never launch out but in Autumn?

Gil.

Yes, he will thus launch out at some other Times too; for you must know that there are Fellows that catch a small Sort of Shell-Fish, most commonly on the Shores, and cry them about the Streets, and he’d now and then buy an Halfpennyworth of these; then you’d swear there had been a Wedding-Dinner in the Family: There was a Fire made in the Kitchen, tho’ not very much of it neither, for these don’t ask much boiling; and these Dainties come always after the Cheese, instead of a Desert.

Ja.

A very fine Desert indeed! But do you never use to have any Flesh or Fish?

Gil.

At last the old Gentleman being overcome by my clamouring, began to live a little more nobly; and whenever he had a Mind to shew his Generosity in good Earnest, this was our Bill of Fare.

Ja.

I long to hear what that is.

Gil.

Imprimis, we had a Dish of Soop which they call a Service, but I don’t know why.

Ja.

A very rich one, I suppose.

Gil.

Very high season’d with the following Spices: They took you a large Kettle of Water, and set it over the Fire; into this they fling a good Quantity of skim’d-Milk Cheese, grown as hard as a Brick-Bat, that you can scarce cut it with an Hatchet; and when these Fragments of Cheese grow a little softer by soaking and seething, they alter the Property of the Liquor, that it is not then fair Water: Now this Soop is serv’d in as a Preparative for the Stomach.

Ja.

This was a Soop for Sows.

Gil.

And the next Course is a Piece of stale Tripe, that has been boil’d a Fortnight.

Ja.

Why then it must needs stink.

Gil.

It does stink, but they have a Remedy for that too.

Ja.

What is that, pray?

Gil.

I would tell you, but I’m afraid you’ll put it into Practice.

Ja.

Ay, marry, Sir!

Gil.

They would take an Egg and beat it up in warm Water, and daub the Tripe over with the Liquor; and so they put the Cheat upon the Eye indeed, but can’t cheat the Nose, for the Stink will force its Way thro’ all. If it happen’d to be a Fish-Day, we had sometimes three Whitings, and but small ones neither, altho’ there were seven or eight of us at Table.

Ja.

What, nothing else?

Gil.

Nothing but that Cheese, as hard as a Stone.

Ja.

The oddest Epicure I ever heard of. But how could so slender Provision be enough for so many Guests of you, and especially not having eat any Breakfast.

Gil.

Well, to satisfy you, I tell you, that the Remainder fed the Mother-in-Law, the Daughter-in-Law, the youngest Son, a Servant-Maid, and a Litter of Children.

Ja.

Nay, now instead of lessening, you have heighten’d my Admiration.

Gil.

’Tis scarce possible for me to explain this Difficulty to you, unless I first represent to you in what Order we sat at Table.

Ja.

Pray represent it then.

Gil.

Antronius, he sat at the upper End of the Table, and I sat at his right Hand, as being principal Guest; overagainst Antronius sat Orthrogonus; next Orthrogonus, Verpius; next to Verpius, Strategus a Grecian; Antronius’s eldest Son sat at his left Hand. If any Stranger came to dine with us, he was plac’d according to his Quality. As for the Soop, there was no great Danger of its being eaten up, nor no great Difference in the Messes, but only that in the Dishes of the principal Guests there were some Bits of this Cheese floating up and down. And besides, there was a Sort of Barricado made betwixt this Soop by Bottles of Wine and Water, that none but three, before whom the Dish stood, could participate, unless he would be impudent indeed, and go beyond his Bounds. Nor did this Dish stay long there, but was soon taken away, that something might be left for the Family.

Ja.

What did the rest eat all this While?

Gil.

They regal’d themselves after their own Fashion.

Ja.

How was that?

Gil.

Why they sopt the chalky Bread in that sour dreggy Wine.

Ja.

Sure your Dinner us’d to be over in a Minute.

Gil.

It oftentimes held above an Hour.

Ja.

How could it be?

Gil.

The Soop being taken away, which, as I told you before, might have stood without any great Danger, Cheese was brought to Table, and that ran no great Risque; for it was so hard it would bid Defiance to a Carving-knife. Every Man’s Portion of that dreggy Wine and Bread stood before him still; and over these Dainties they diverted themselves with telling Stories; and in the mean Time the Women eat their Dinner.

But how did the Servants fare in the mean Time?

Gil.

They had nothing in common with us, but din’d and sup’d at their own Hours: But this I can tell you, they scarce spent half an Hour’s Time in a whole Day at Victuals.

Ja.

But what Sort of Provision had they?

Gil.

You may easily guess that.

Ja.

Your Germans think an Hour little enough to breakfast in, and they commonly take as much Time to their Beaver, an Hour and an half at their Dinner, and at least two Hours at Supper; and unless their Bellies are well fill’d with good Wine, Flesh, and Fish, they run away from their Masters, and go into the Army.

Gil.

Every Nation has its peculiar Customs; the Italians lay out but very little upon their Bellies; they love Money better than Pleasure; and this Temperance they owe rather to Nature than Custom.

Ja.

Now truly I don’t wonder you are come Home so lean, but rather that you are come Home alive, especially since you were so us’d to Capons, Partridges, Pigeons, and Pheasants.

Gil.

Why, in Truth, I had very fairly troop’d off, unless I had found me out a Remedy.

Ja.

’Tis but poor living, where such frequent Recourse must be had to Remedies.

Gil.

I brought Matters about so, that I had the fourth Part of a boil’d Pullet allow’d to every Meal, to keep up my languishing Spirits.

Ja.

Ay, marry, now you begin to live!

Gil.

Not altogether so well as you imagine; for old Gripe bought the least he could lay his Hands on, to save Expences, such that six of them would not serve a Polander of a tolerable Stomach for a Breakfast; and when he had bought them, he would give them no Corn, because he would not put himself to extraordinary Charges; so a Wing or a Leg of the Fowl, that was half starv’d, before it was put into the Pot, was boil’d for my Dinner, and the Liver always went to Orthrogonus’s little Son; and as for the Broth, the Women were perpetually lapping it up, and every now and then they put in fresh Water; so that by that Time it came to me it was as dry as a Chip, and no more Taste in it than the Foot of a Joint-Stool: And as for the Broth, it was nothing but a little Water bewitch’d.

Ja.

And yet I hear that you have all Sorts of Fowl there in great Plenty, very good, and very cheap.

Gil.

They are so, but Money is hard to come by.

Ja.

You have done Penance enough, one would think, if you had murder’d the Pope, or piss’d against St. Peter’s Tomb-Stone.

Gil.

But hear the rest of the Farce out. You know there are five Days in a Week that we may eat Flesh on.

Ja.

What then?

Gil.

He only bought two Pullets for the whole Week: On Thursday he would pretend he forgot to go to Market, lest I should either have a whole Pullet on that Day, or any should be left.

Ja.

In short, I think your Landlord was a greater Miser than Euclio in Plautus. But what Course did you take to keep yourself alive upon Fish-Days?

Gil.

I employ’d a certain Friend to buy me every Day three Eggs with my own Money, two for my Dinner, and one for my Supper: But here also the Women put their Tricks upon me; for instead of my new-laid Eggs that I paid a good Price for, they would give me rotten ones, that I thought I came well off, if one of my three Eggs prov’d eatable. I also at last got a small Cask of good Wine bought for my own drinking, but the Women broke open my Cellar-Door, and in a few Days drank it all up, and my Landlord Antronius did not seem to be much displeas’d at the Matter.

Ja.

But was there no Body in the Family that took Pity on you?

Gil.

Take Pity on me, say you? No, they thought me a Glutton and a Cormorant, who by myself devour’d so much Victuals: And upon that Account Orthrogonus would ever and anon give me good Advice, that I should consider the Climate where I liv’d, and therefore have Regard to myself; telling me of several of my Countrymen, who had by their over-eating in that Country either procur’d their own Deaths, or brought upon themselves very dangerous Distempers. But when he found me supporting my outward Tabernacle, that was fatigued, starv’d, and distemper’d, with some Knick-knacks that were sold at the Confectioners; he sets a Physician, a Friend and Acquaintance of mine, to persuade me to live moderately. The Doctor took a great Deal of Pains with me: I soon perceiv’d he had been set on to do it, so I made him not a Word of Answer: But when he was still urging me very hard, and was always harping on the same String; I said to him, Worthy Doctor, pray tell me, are you in Jest, or in Earnest? O, in Earnest, said he. Well then, reply’d I, what would you have me to do? Why, to leave off Suppers for good and all, and to mix at least one half Water with your Wine. I could not forbear laughing at this excellent Advice, and said to him, If you want to see me decently laid in a Church- Yard, you propose a ready Way for it; for I am sure it would be present Death to me, in the Circumstances of this poor, lean, dispirited Body, to leave off Suppers; and I have try’d that so often, that in short I have no Mind to make the Experiment again. What, pray, do you think would become of me, if, after such Dinners as we have here, I should go supperless to Bed? And then to bid me mingle Water with such weak insipid Wine! pray tell me, is it not much better to drink clear Water from the Spring, than to debauch it with this sour dreggy Stuff? I don’t doubt but Orthrogonus put you upon giving me this Advice. At this the Doctor smil’d, and allow’d me better Terms: Most learned Gilbert, said he, I did not say this to you, that you should totally leave off eating Suppers; you may eat an Egg, and drink a Glass of Wine; for this is my own Manner of living. I have an Egg boil’d for my Supper, one half of the Yolk I eat myself, and give the other half to my Son; then I drink half a Glass of Wine, and by the Help of this Refreshment I study till late in the Night.

Ja.

But did this Doctor speak the Truth?

Gil.

Yes, the very Truth; for as I was once coming Home from Church, a Gentleman that bore me Company, told me the Doctor dwelt there: I had a Mind to see his Quarters, so I knock’d at the Door, and in I went, I remember it was on a Sunday; I found the Doctor, his Son, and Servant, at Dinner; the Bill of Fare was a Couple of Eggs, and nothing at all else.

Ja.

Why sure they must be mere Skeletons.

Gil.

No, really, they were both plump and in good-liking, fresh-colour’d, their Eyes brisk and lively.

Ja.

I can scarce believe it.

Gil.

I tell you nothing but what I know to be true: Nay, he is not the only Man that lives after this Manner, but many others, Men of Fashion and Substance in the World, do the same. Take my Word for it, much eating and drinking is rather an Effect of Custom, than of Nature. If a Person accustom himself by little and little, he may come in Time to do as much as Milo, to eat up an Ox in a Day’s Time.

Ja.

Good God! if it be possible for a Man to preserve his Health with so little Sustenance, what a great Deal of unnecessary Expence are the Germans, English, Danes, and Poles at upon their Bellies?

Gil.

A great Deal without Doubt, and that to the apparent Prejudice of their Health and Understanding.

Ja.

But what’s the Matter that you could not content yourself with that Way of living?

Gil.

Because I had accustom’d myself to another Manner, and it was too late to alter my Way of living then. But besides, I did not so much dislike the Quantity of our Provision, as the Quality of it. Two Eggs had been enough for a Meal for me, if they had been fresh-laid; one Glass of Wine had been enough, if we had not had nasty Lees given us instead of Wine; half the Bread would have serv’d me, if it had not been mix’d with Chalk.

Ja.

Lord! that Antronius should be such a sordid Wretch amidst so much Wealth!

Gil.

I believe verily he was worth 80,000 Ducats; and to speak within Compass, he never got less, than 1,000 Ducats a Year besides.

Ja.

But did those young Sparks, for whom he scrap’d all this together, live at the same sparing Rate?

Gil.

Yes, at Home they did, but it was only there; for when they got abroad, they would eat, drink, whore, and game notably; and while their old Father thought much to spend Sixpence at Home, to treat the best Friend he had, these Sparks would make nothing to lose sixty Ducats in a Night at gaming.

Ja.

This is the usual Fate of Estates that are gotten by miserly living; they are commonly thus spent. But now you are gotten safe out of these great Difficulties, whither are you steering your Course?

Gil.

I am going to an old Club of merry Cocks, to endeavour to fetch up what I have lost.

A mere Skeleton266

“Syphar hominis,” a mere skin of a man. Greek σνˆϕαρ, an old wrinkled skin, the slough of a serpent, etc.

The famous Painter thought that Day was lost, wherein he did not employ his Pencil268

Apelles. Whence the celebrated proverb, Nulla dies sine lineâ, not a day without a line; adopted by Luther as a motto when translating the New Testament.

The Devil a Barrel, the better Herring270

Lit., “Like lips have like lettuces.”