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782. UPON PREW, HIS MAID.

In this little urn is laid
Prudence Baldwin, once my maid:
From whose happy spark here let
Spring the purple violet.


783. THE INVITATION.

To sup with thee thou did'st me home invite;
And mad'st a promise that mine appetite
Should meet and tire[1] on such lautitious[2] meat,
The like not Heliogabalus did eat:
And richer wine would'st give to me, thy guest,
Than Roman Sylla pour'd out at his feast.
I came, 'tis true, and looked for fowl of price,
The bastard phœnix, bird of paradise,
And for no less than aromatic wine
Of maiden's-blush[3], commix'd with jessamine.
Clean was the hearth, the mantel larded jet[4];
Which wanting Lar, and smoke, hung weeping wet;
At last, i' th' noon of winter, did appear
A ragg'd-soust[5]-neat's-foot with sick vinegar:
And in a burnished flagonet stood by,
Beer small as comfort, dead as charity.
At which amaz'd, and pondering on the food,
How cold it was, and how it chill'd my blood;
I curs'd the master, and I damn'd the souce,
And swore I'd got the ague of the house.
Well, when to eat thou dost me next desire,
I'll bring a fever, since thou keep'st no fire.

  1. Tire, feed on.
  2. Lautitious, sumptuous.
  3. Maiden's-blush, the pink-rose.
  4. Larded jet, i.e., blacked.
  5. Soust, pickled.