To sup with thee thou didst me home invite; And mad'st a promise that mine appetite Sho'd meet and tire, on such lautitious meat, The like not Heliogabalus did eat: And richer Wine wo'dst give to me (thy guest) Then Roman Sylla powr'd out at his feast. I came; (tis true) and lookt for Fowle of price, The bastard Phenix; bird of Paradice; And for no less then Aromatick Wine Of Maydens-blush, commixt with Jessimine. Cleane was the herth, the mantle larded jet; Which wanting Lar, and smoke, hung weeping wet; At last, i' th' noone of winter, did appeare A ragd-soust-neats-foot with sick vineger: And in a burnisht Flagonet stood by Beere small as Comfort, dead as Charity. At which amaz'd, and pondring on the food, How cold it was, and how it child my blood; I curst the master; and I damn'd the souce; And swore I'de got the ague of the house. Well, when to eat thou dost me next desire, I'le bring a Fever; since thou keep'st no fire. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...SONGS ON THE VOICES OF BIRDS; SEA-MEWS IN WINTER TIME by JEAN INGELOW THE WOODSPURGE by DANTE GABRIEL ROSSETTI TO WAKEN AN OLD LADY by WILLIAM CARLOS WILLIAMS PEARLS OF THE FAITH: 42. AL-JAMIL by EDWIN ARNOLD THE TRAGIC MARY QUEEN OF SCOTS: 1 by KATHERINE HARRIS BRADLEY |