THE INVITATION <br /> <br />To sup with thee thou didst me home invite, <br />And mad'st a promise that mine appetite <br />Should meet and tire, on such lautitious meat, <br />The like not Heliogabalus did eat: <br />And richer wine would'st give to me, thy guest, <br />Than Roman Sylla pour'd out at his feast. <br />I came, 'tis true, and look'd for fowl of price, <br />The bastard Phoenix; bird of Paradise; <br />And for no less than aromatic wine <br />Of maidens-blush, commix'd with jessamine. <br />Clean was the hearth, the mantle larded jet, <br />Which, wanting Lar and smoke, hung weeping wet; <br />At last i' th' noon of winter, did appear <br />A ragg'd soused neats-foot, with sick vinegar; <br />And in a burnish'd flagonet, stood by <br />Beer small as comfort, dead as charity. <br />At which amazed, and pond'ring on the food, <br />How cold it was, and how it chill'd my blood, <br />I curst the master, and I damn'd the souce, <br />And swore I'd got the ague of the house. <br />--Well, when to eat thou dost me next desire, <br />I'll bring a fever, since thou keep'st no fire.<br /><br />Robert Herrick<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-invitation-3/
