University of Virginia Library

To my noblest Friend, Sir I. P. Knight.

Sir,

Though my deare Talbots Fate exact, a sad
And heavy brow; my verse shall not be clad
For him this houre in mourning: I will write
To you the glory of a pompous night,
Which none (except sobriety) who wit
Or cloathes could boast, but freely did admit.
I (who still sinne for company) was there
And tasted of the glorious supper, where
Meate was the least of wonder. Though the nest
Oth' Phœnix rifled seemd t' amaze the feast,
And th' Ocean left so poore that it alone
Could since vant wretched herring and poore Iohn.
Lucullus surfets, were but types of this,
And whatsoever riot mention'd is
In story, did but the dull Zanye play,
To this proud night; which rather wee'le terme day:
For th' artificiall lights so thicke were set,
That the bright Sun seem'd this to counterfeit.
But seven (whom whether we should Sages call
Or deadly sinnes, Ile not dispute) were all
Invited to this pompe. And yet I dare
Pawne my lov'd Muse, th' Hungarian did prepare
Not halfe that quantity of victuall, when
He layd his happy siege to Nortlinghen.
The mist of the perfumes was breath'd so thicke
That Linx himselfe though his sight fam'd so quicke,
Had there scarce spyed one sober: For the wealth
Of the Canaries was exhaust, the health
Of his good Majestye to celebrate,
Who'le judge them loyall subjects without that:
Yet they, who some fond priviledge to maintaine,
Would have rebeld; their best freehold, their braine
Surrender'd there; and five fifteenes did pay
To drinke his happy life and raigne. O day
It was thy piety to flye; th' hadst beene
Found accessary else to this fond sinne.
But I forget to speake each stratagem
By which the dishes enter'd, and in them
Each luscious miracle, As if more bookes
Had written beene oth' mystery of Cookes
Then the Philos'phers stone, here we did see
All wonders in the kitchin Alchimy:
But Ile not leave you there, before you part
You shall have something of another art.
A banquet raining downe so fast, the good
Old Patriarch would have thought a generall flood:
Heaven open'd and from thence a mighty showre
Of Amber comfits it sweete selfe did powre
Vpon our heads, and Suckets from our eye
Like thickend clouds did steale away the sky,
That it was question'd whether heaven were
Black-fryers, and each starre a confectioner;
But I too long detaine you at a feast
You hap'ly surfet of; now every guest
Is reeled downe to his coach; I licence crave
Sir, but to kisse your hands, and take my leave.