When the Sultan Shah-Zaman
Goes to the city Ispahan,
Even before he gets so far
read more

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.

What will not luxury taste? Earth, sea, and air,
Are daily ransack'd for the bill of fare.
read more

What will not luxury taste? Earth, sea, and air,
Are daily ransack'd for the bill of fare.
Blood stuffed in skins is British Christians' food,
And France robs marshes of the croaking brood.

Gluttony kills more than the sword, and is the kindler of all
evils.
[Lat., Gula plures occidit quam read more

Gluttony kills more than the sword, and is the kindler of all
evils.
[Lat., Gula plures occidit quam gladius, estque fomes omnium
malorum.]

For, as a surfeit of the sweetest things
The deepest loathing to the stomach brings,
Or as read more

For, as a surfeit of the sweetest things
The deepest loathing to the stomach brings,
Or as the heresies that men do leave
Are hated most of those they did deceive,
So thou, my surfeit and my heresy,
Of all be hated, but the most of me!

And solid pudding against empty praise.

And solid pudding against empty praise.

And the barrel of meal wasted not, neither did the cruse of oil
fail, according to the word of read more

And the barrel of meal wasted not, neither did the cruse of oil
fail, according to the word of the Lord, which he spake by
Elijah.

He that keeps not crust nor crum
Weary of all, shall want some.

He that keeps not crust nor crum
Weary of all, shall want some.

No, Antony, take the lot:
But, first or last, your fine Egyptian cookery
Shall have the fame. read more

No, Antony, take the lot:
But, first or last, your fine Egyptian cookery
Shall have the fame. I have heard that Julius Caesar
Grew faw with feasting there.

'Tis not her coldness, father,
That chills my labouring breast;
It's that confounded cucumber
read more

'Tis not her coldness, father,
That chills my labouring breast;
It's that confounded cucumber
I've ate and can't digest.