The Elves prepare to quench his thirst,
In pure seed pearl of infant dew
Brought and sweetened with a blue
And pregnant violet; which done,
His killing eyes begin to run
Quite o'er the table, where he spies
The horns of watered butterflies,
Of which he eats, but with a little
Neat cool allay of cuckoo's spittle.
Next this the red-cap worm that's shut
Within the concave of a nut.
Moles' eyes he tastes, then adders' ears;
To these for sauce the slain stags' tears,
A bloated earwig, and the pith
Of sugared rush he glads him with.
Then he takes a little moth,
Late fatted in a scarlet cloth,
A spinner's ham, the beards of mice,
Nits carbonadoed, a device
Before unknown; the blood of fleas,
Which gave his Elveship's stomach ease.
The unctuous dew-laps of a snail,
The broke heart of a nightingale
O'ercome in music, with the sag
And well-bestrutted bee's sweet bag.
Conserves of atoms, and the mites,
The silk-worm's sperm, and the delights
Of all that ever yet hath blest
Fairy-land: so ends his feast."
On the next page is printed: "Orpheus. Thrice excelling, for the finishment of this Feast, thou must music it so that the Deities may descend to grace it."
