Satires 2.8 (Creech): Ut Nasidieni

HOw do you like rich Nasidenus cheer?
For when I thought last night to have you here,
'Twas said, that e're since Noon you had been there.
Troth never merrier; Pray Sir grant my wish,
And, if no trouble, what was the first Dish?
"The first Dish, Sir, was a Lucanian Bore,
"Caught whilst the Wind was South, the Master swore,
And round the brim lay Lettice to excite,
And Betes to raise the lazy Appetite;
Anchove, Pickled-Herrings, mixt with these
Lay Raddish, bitter Herbs, and Coan Lees.
This Dish remov'd, two ready Servants come,
One clean'd the Table, t'other swept the Room,
And gather'd up the Relicts of the Feast,
The Bones, and all that might offend the Guest:
Just as at Ceres Feast th' Athenian Maid,
Comes black Hydaspes bearing on his Head
Large Falks of White, and Alcon Flasks of Red.
Then says mine Host; My Lord, if more than these
You like another, call for what you please,
My Cellar's stor'd; Poor Wealth, dishonest Pride,
But prethee tell me who was there beside?
Sir, I sate first, and, stay, I think 'twas so,
Turinus next, Vibidius sate below,
Next Balatro; below him Porcius lyes,
Porcius the merry'st archest Wag that is,
To swoop whole Custards, and to swallow Pies.
All uninvited, but as Lords are wont,
Mecoenas brought them all on his account.
Next above these Nomentan takes his place,
He that could point at every hidden Sawce;
For we, the rest, on Fish and Fowl did feast,
Concealing different from their proper tast.
This streight appear'd, when by his luscious rules
He carv'd for me th' untasted guts of Soles.
And after to instruct me, gravely said,
Figs pluck't before the Moon is full, look red;
But thro this difference would you nicely pry
He'l tell you more, He's more expert than I.
Mean while Vibidius in a jeering tone
Crys; Balatro, come prethee nothings done,
Unless we drink him dry; a Bigger Glass;
At that Death-pale spread o're our Fuscus face,
For good stout drinkers He did chiefly fear,
'Cause such, when full, with greater freedom jeer;
Or 'cause hot Liquors pall the subtle tast,
And so would spoyl the goodness of his feast:
Yet on it goes, the Bowls are freely crown'd,
And supernaculum the health goes round:
The chiefest Guests the while few bumpers tost,
They spar'd the Bottles, and the bleeding Host.
Now comes midst swimming Shrimps a Lampry spread
In a large Dish, and thus the Master said;
This Fish was caught when full of Spawn, (that Course
Is good) for after Spawning's done, 'tis worse:
The Broth is made of Oyl, the best that flow'd
From the Venafrian Press; to make it good,
Wine five years old, and Caviare I joyn,
In boyling, Sirs, I use Italian wine,
But when 'tis boyl'd, with Pepper spic'd and drest
With Vinegar, the Chain Pickle's best:
To boyl green Rockets, with't was never known
Before my time, I'me sure that Art's my own.
Salt water Crawfish first Cotillus stew'd,
And kept them whole, for they are better food
Then when ith' Shell, the Pickle makes them good.
But whilst he talkt, and whilst He prais'd the Fish
The Hangings tumbling down fell o're the Dish:
Bringing black dust, as much, as Whirlwinds raise
When nimble Storms sweep o're the dusty ways:
We started all, and thought it worse than 'twas,
But when no harm appear'd, each kept his place:
Our Host streight hung his head, He wept and sigh'd
As if his darling Son had lately dy'd;
He had wept on, his Grief have known no end,
But wise Nomentan thus reliev'd his Friend;
Unlucky Chance what God is so unkind,
Thou lov'st to break the measures Man design'd;
Some bit their Napkins, yet could scarce forbear
To laugh aloud, whilst with a bitter Sneer
Crys jeering Balatro, Well, we strive in vain,
'Tis the sad fate of Life, and none can gain
By Labour, Fame that answers to their Pain.
That ever I should prove so troublesome
For one fine Treat, when I could dine at home?
That I should vex you to provide a Feast,
To see your Broth well boyl'd, your Servants drest,
Besides th' unlucky chance that waits on all,
As if, as but just now, the Hangings fall;
The Footboy stumbling spoyl a costly fish,
Or Plowman Servant trip and break the dish.
But as in Captains oft ill chance reveals
The Entertainers Wit, which good conceals;
Then says mine Host, Ah, may'st Thou still be blest,
Thou art so good a Man, so kind a Guest:
And calls for's Shoes; then you may quickly hear
Divided whispers spread thro every Ear.
No Play could ever please me half so well,
But what you laught at after prethee tell:
Whilst hot Vibidius with a waggish look
Crys to the Servants, is the Bottle broak
That I can get no Wine to this dry Feast;
And merry Balatro promotes the jest;
Mine Host comes in, and with a smiling face,
About to mend by Art his late disgrace,
His Servants following brought a Charger fill'd
With one poor little Crane cut up and grill'd,
Cover'd with Salt and Meal; another brings
Pluck't off and by themselves a Rabbets wings,
For those, forfooth, when by themselves are best,
And sweeter far than eaten with the rest:
Then roasted Blackbirds Doves their rumps cut off,
All pretty sorts of Meat, and sweet enough;
But he with long harangues to every guest
Explain'd their Natures, how and why 'twas drest;
Whom thus we punish'd, each Man left his seat,
We fled the Banquet, and refus'd to eat;
As if the Witch Canidia's poysnous breath
Had blown upon't, and fill'd the Feast with Death.