When the Sultan Shah-Zaman
Goes to the city Ispahan,
Even before he gets so far
As the place where the clustered palm-trees are,
At the last of the thirty palace-gates
The pet of the harem, Rose-in-Bloom,
Orders a feast in his favorite room--
Glittering square of colored ice,
Sweetened with syrup, tinctured with spice,
Creams, and cordials, and sugared dates,
Syrian apples, Othmanee quinces,
Limes and citrons and apricots,
And wines that are known to Eastern princes.
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Free livers on a small scale; who are prodigal within the compass
of a guinea.
Free livers on a small scale; who are prodigal within the compass
of a guinea.
When mighty roast beef was the Englishman's food
It ennobled our hearts and enriched our blood--
Our read more
When mighty roast beef was the Englishman's food
It ennobled our hearts and enriched our blood--
Our soldiers were brave and our courtiers were good.
Oh! the roast beef of England.
And Old England's roast beef.
This dish of meat is too good for any but anglers, or very honest
men.
This dish of meat is too good for any but anglers, or very honest
men.
Acorns were good till bread was found.
Acorns were good till bread was found.
The poor man will praise it so hath he good cause,
That all the year eats neither partridge not read more
The poor man will praise it so hath he good cause,
That all the year eats neither partridge not quail,
But sets up his rest and makes up his feast,
With a crust of brown bread and a pot of good ale.
Lord, Madame, I have fed like a farmer; I shall grow as fat as a
porpoise.
Lord, Madame, I have fed like a farmer; I shall grow as fat as a
porpoise.
Blest be those feasts, with simple plenty crowned,
Where all the ruddy family around
Laugh at the read more
Blest be those feasts, with simple plenty crowned,
Where all the ruddy family around
Laugh at the jests or pranks that never fail
Or sigh with pity at some mournful tale.
(For many walk, of whom I have told you often, and now tell you
even weeping, that they are read more
(For many walk, of whom I have told you often, and now tell you
even weeping, that they are the enemies of the cross of Christ:
Whose end is destruction, whose God is their belly, and whose
glory is in their shame, who mind earthly things.)
But that our feasts
In every mess have folly, and the feeders
Digest it with a custom, read more
But that our feasts
In every mess have folly, and the feeders
Digest it with a custom, I should blush
To see you so attired, swoon, I think,
To show myself a glass.
