A Selection from the Lyrical Poems of Robert Herrick

56. THE INVITATION

     To sup with thee thou didst me home invite,
     And mad'st a promise that mine appetite
     Should meet and tire, on such lautitious meat,
     The like not Heliogabalus did eat:
     And richer wine would'st give to me, thy guest,
     Than Roman Sylla pour'd out at his feast.
     I came, 'tis true, and look'd for fowl of price,
     The bastard Phoenix; bird of Paradise;
     And for no less than aromatic wine
     Of maidens-blush, commix'd with jessamine.
     Clean was the hearth, the mantle larded jet,
     Which, wanting Lar and smoke, hung weeping wet;
     At last i' th' noon of winter, did appear
     A ragg'd soused neats-foot, with sick vinegar;
     And in a burnish'd flagonet, stood by
     Beer small as comfort, dead as charity.
     At which amazed, and pond'ring on the food,
     How cold it was, and how it chill'd my blood,
     I curst the master, and I damn'd the souce,
     And swore I'd got the ague of the house.
     —Well, when to eat thou dost me next desire,
     I'll bring a fever, since thou keep'st no fire.