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40
THE TRIUMPHS


But most the absence of her smile he feels
In the gay season of his social meals:
Hence, while for her the rich repast attends,
His hasty summons to the nymph he sends:
The happy nymph superior cares induce
To risk his anger by a rash excuse:
She craves his pardon; but, for time distrest,
She still is busy on her magic vest;
To range her diamonds in a sparkling zone
She begs to snatch her scanty meal alone.
The knight in sullen state begins to dine:
Spleen, like a harpy, flutters o'er his wine:
Invisible she poisons every dish,
Tinging with gall his mutton, fowl, and fish.
The more he eats, the more perverse he grows;
For as his anger sunk, his choler rose.
The cloth remov'd, he cries, with vapour sick,
The pears are mellow, and the port is thick;
Tho' nicer fruit Pomona never knew,
And his rich wine surpass'd the ruby's hue!