IF, of thy purpose yet, thou takest no shame,

But keep'st thy mind, immutably, the

same,

That thou esteem'st it as a good in chief
At others' trenchers to relieve thy life;
If those things thou canst find a back to
bear,

That not Sarmentus nor vile Galba were
So base to put in patience of a guest,
No, not for Cæsar's far-exceeding feast;
Fear will affect me to believe thy troth
In any witness, though produced by oath.
For nothing in my knowledge falls that is
More frugal than the belly. But say this,
That not enough food all thy means can
find,

To keep thy gut from emptiness and wind, Is no creek void? no bridge? no piece of shed

Half, or not half? Would thy not being fed

At Virro's table be so foul a shame?
Does hunger blow in thee so false a flame,
As not to taste it nobler in as poor
And vile a place as hath been named
before?

To quake for cold, and gnaw the mustiest grounds

Of barley-grist, baked purposely for hounds?

First, take it for a rule, that if my lord Shall once be pleased to grace thee with his board,

The whole revenues that thy hopes inherit,
Rising from services of ancient merit,
In this requital amply paid will prove.
O'tis the fruit of a transcendent love
To give one victuals; that thy table-king
Lays in thy dish though ne'er so thin a

thing,

Yet that reproach still in thine ears shall ring.

If, therefore, after two months' due neglect,

He deigns his poor dependant to respect,

And lest the third bench fail to fill the rank,

He shall take thee up to supply the blank. "Let's sit together, Trebius," says my lord; See all thy wishes summ'd up in a word. What canst thou ask at Jove's hand after this?

This grace to Trebius enough ample is To make him start from sleep before the lark,

Posting abroad untruss'd, and in the dark, Perplex'd with fear, lest all the servile rout Of his saluters have the round run-out Before he come; while yet the fixed star Shows his ambiguous head, and heaven's cold car

The slow Boötes wheels about the Bear. And yet, for all this, what may be the cheer?

To such vile wine thy throat is made the sink,

As greasy wool would not endure to drink, And we must shortly look to see our guest Transform'd into a Berecynthian priest. Words make the prologue to prepare the fray,

And in the next scene pots are taught to play

The parts of weapons: thy red napkin now
Descends to tell thee of thy broken brow;
And such events do evermore ensue
When you poor guests and Virro's serving

Next day he likes to taste another field, The Alban hills', or else the Setine yield, Whose race and rich succession if you ask,

Age hath decay'd, and sickness of the cask;

Such Thrasea and Helvidius quaff'd, still crown'd,

When Brutus' birth and Cassius', they renown'd.

Virro himself in solemn bowls is served,
Of amber and disparent beryl kerv'd ;
But to thy trust no such cup they commit,
Or, if they do, a spy is fix'd to it,

To tell the stones; whose firm eye never fails

To watch the close walks of thy vulturous nails.

"Give leave," says Virro, and then takes the cup,

The famous jasper in it lifting up

In glorious praises; for 'tis now the guise Of him and others to transfer such prize Off from his fingers to his bowls that were Wont to grace swords, and our young Trojan peer

That made İarbus jealous (since in love Preferr'd past him by Dido) used t' improve

By setting them in fore-front of his sheath. But thy bowl stands an infinite beneath, And bears the Beneventane cobbler's name,

Whose gallon drunk-off must thy blood enflame,

And is so crazed, that they would let it pass

To them that matches give for broken glass.

Now, if by fumes of wine, or fiery meat, His lordship's stomach over-boil with heat,

There's a cold liquor brought that's made t' outvie

The chill impressions of the north-east sky.
I formerly affirm'd, that you and he
Were served with wines of a distinct de-

gree,

But now remember, it belongs to you
To keep your distance in your water too.
And (in his page's place) thy cups are
brought

By a swarth footman, from Getulia bought, Or some sterved negro, whose affrightful sight

A jewel purchased at a higher rate Than martial Ancus', or king Tullus' state (Not to stand long), than all the idle things

That graced the courts of all our Roman kings.

If then thy bowl his nectar's store shall need,

Address thee to his Indian Ganymede. Think not his page, worth such a world, can skill

Or does not scorn, for thread-bare coats to fill,

And, to say truth, his form and prime beside

May well allow him some few grains of pride.

But when does he to what thou want'st descend,

Or thy entreaties not contemn t'attend,
Supply of water craving, hot or cold?
No, he, I tell you, in high scorn doth
hold

To stir at every stale dependant's call;
Or that thou call'st for anything at all,
Or sitt'st where he's forced stand, his pride
depraves.

Houses of state abound with stately slaves.
And see, another's proud disdains resist
His hand to set thee bread; and yet what
is't

But hoary cantles of unboulted grist,
That would a jaw-tooth rouse, and not
admit,

Though ne'er so base, thy baser throat a bit?
But for his bread, the pride of appetite,
Tenderly soft, incomparably white,
The first flour of fine meal subdued in
paste,

That's a peculiar for my lord's own taste. See then thou keep'st thy fingers from offence,

And give the pantler his due reverence. Or say thou shouldst be malapertly bold,

Seest thou not slaves enough, to force thy hold

From thy attempted prize, with taunts like . these,

"Hands off, forward companion, will you please

With your familiar crible to be fed,
And understand the colour of your bread ?"
Then grumbles thy disgrace: "And is
it this

night

Passing the monuments of Latia.

In his eye waits the flower of Asia,

Of my fair wife, to post with earliest speed Up to Mount Esculine, where agues

breed?

When my repair did vernal Jove provoke To drive his weather through my winter cloak,

And in his bitterest hails his murmurs broke?"

But let us to our cates our course address :

Observe that lobster served to Virro's

mess,

How with the length of his extended limbs

He does surcharge the charger; how the brims

With lustful sperage are all over-stored;
With what a tail he over-tops the board,
In service first borne-up betwixt the hands
Of that vast yeoman. But, for thee, there
stands

A puny cray-fish, pent in half a shell,
The dish not feast enough for one in hell.
The fish he tastes swims in an oil that
grew

In Campany, and drank Venafrian dew. But, for the worts, poor snake, presented thee,

Whose pale aspect shows their infirmity, They drink an oil much of the curriers' stamp,

Exquisite stuff, that savours of the lamp. For know, that for your board is billeted An oil that from the Lybian cane is shed, The burthen of a sharp Numidian prow; An oil, for whose strength Romans dis

avow

To bathe with Boccharis; an oil whose smell

'Gainst serpents doth an amulet excel.

Next, for my lord, a mullet see served in, Sent from the Corsic shore, or of a fin Bred in Sicilia's Taurominian rocks; All our seas being exhausted, all our flocks

Spent and destroy'd, while our luxurious diet

Makes havoc, and our kitchens never quiet

Still with unwearied nets, that no truce keep,

Ransack the entrails of th' adjoining deep;
Nor respite our Etrurian fry to grow.
And now our markets their chief purvey-

ance owe

To some remote and ditionary coast; Thence come the dainties that our kitchens

boast;

Such as to buy, the vulture Lenas deigns,
Such as to sell, Aurelia entertains.
In mess with that, behold for Virro lies
A lamprey of an exemplary size,

That for dimension bears the prize from

all

Which gulfs Sicilian sent his festival; For while the South contains himself, while he

Lies close, and dries his feathers in his lee, Our greedy pursenets for their gain despise The danger that in mid Charybdis lies.

Now, for his lamprey, thou art glad to take

An eel, near cousin to a hideous snake,
Or else a freckled Tiberine, bit with frost,
And he the poorest slave of all the coast,
Fed with the torrent of the common sewer,
And swims the town-ditch where 'tis most
impure.

Here would I on himself a word have spent,

So he inclined an ear benevolent.
Nor do we such benevolences crave,
As Seneca his mean acquaintance gave;
Such as good Piso; such as Cotta made
To deal for largess; a familiar trade;
For times have been, that in the world's

account

The title of munificence did mount
Above triumphant or imperial bays.
But our desire in this due limit stays,
That you will make, when you entreat a
guest,

Civil respect the steward of your feast.
Do this, and be, as many lords are more,
Rich to yourself, and to your followers
poor.

Before him see a huge goose-liver set; A capon cramm'd, even with that goose; for great

A whole wild boar, hid in his smoking heat,

That gold-lock'd Meleager's dart deserved; And after all this, Virro's self is served With pure dress'd mushrooms, be the spring then freed,

And wished thunders make his meals exceed.

And then the gully-gut, Aledius, cries, O Lybia, keep with thee thy wheats and ryes,

And ease thy oxen, sending these supplies. And that no indignation want to thee (As bound t' observe), the carver thou must

see

Dancing about his business; and he That teaches him the laws to the true life

Of carving comely, with his flying knife Touching at every joint he carves, before He dares th' attempt, till not a gesture

more

you

So desperate is, so lost, to bid the king "Drink to me, sir?" No. There is many a thing

That thread-bare coats dare not for fear bring forth.

But if some god, or god-like man, or worth

Better than fate, would wealth bestow on thee,

Fit to maintain a knight of Rome's degree,

How huge a piece of man shouldst thou ascend

Raised out of nothing! How much Virro's friend!

"Give Trebius." "Set to Trebius." "Brother, now,

Please you these puddings taste?" moneys, you

O

He gives this honour, you, these brother

That Virro feeds thee so? No, 'tis to grieve

Thy greedy liquorous appetite, because
There is no comedy of more applause,
Nor any excellentest zany can

More than a weeping-gut delight a man. All is then done (if we must teach thine ears)

To make thee purge thy choler by thy tears,

And live still gnashing of thy great-eyeteeth.

Thou think'st, he thinks thee free, and not beneath

Guests for his love and grace; but he knows well

Thee only taken with his kitchen's smell;

Nor thinks amiss; for who so naked lives,

That twice on his entreats attendance gives?

Vain hope of supping well deceives you all.

'But see," say you, "that half-eat hare will fall

In his gift to our shares; or of that boar

Some little fragments, that his haunches wore ;

Or sure that caponet." When, for all prepared,

Your musty bread pared clean, and no bit shared

Of all those meats of mark, and long'd-for dishes,

Your vain hopes vanish, and y' are mute as fishes.

He's wise that serves thee so; for if thou can Bear all, thou shouldst, and he's no unjust

man

That lays all on thee, even to stoop thy head

To the fool's razor, and be buffeted; Which if thou dost, nor lett'st thy forage fear

Besides to suffer Virro's whipping cheer, With all the sharp sauce that he can extend,

Thou'rt worthy such a feast, and such a friend.