Epistles 1.5 (Creech): Si Potes Archiacis

IF you can sit upon a paultry Seat,
My Friend Torquatus, and endure to Eat
A homely Dish, a Sallad all the Treat:
Sir, I shall make a Feast, my Friends invite,
And beg that you would Sup with me to Night.
My Liquor flow'd from the Minturnian Vine,
In Taurus Consulship, 'tis Common Wine;
If you have better, let the Flasks be sent;
Or let what I, the Lord, provide content:
My Servants sweep and furnish every Room,
My Dishes all are cleans'd against you come:
Forbear thy wanton hopes, and Toyl for gain,
And Moschus Cause; 'tis all but idle Pain:
To morrow Caesar's Birth-day comes, to give
Release to Cares, and a small time to live.
Then we may sleep till Noon, and gay delight,
And merry talk prolong the Summer's Night.
What is my Wealth, if I must always spare?
He that lives Poor, to leave a Wealthy Heir
Is near a-kin to mad. I'le drink and play,
Enjoy my self, and fling my Gold away.
I'le frolic (let the sparing be thought wise)
Content to be esteem'd a fool for this:
What cannot drunkenness effect, 'tis free
of Secrets, and turns hope to certainty;
It pushes on the unarm'd Man to Wars,
It frees the troubled mind from weighty Cares:
It teaches Arts, it teaches how to think,
And what Man is not Eloquent in's Drink?
And who tho cramp't in narrow want's not free?
Now I'le provide (pray leave that task to me)
I'me willing, and I'me fit for such a Care)
Your Seats shall be as clean as any are;
Your Napkins good, no spot shall foul the Cloth,
Whose sight might make you snuff your Nose, and loath.
The Cups well scour'd, the modest Table grace,
The dishes shine that you may see your face.
None shall be there that shall have treacherous Ears,
And carry o're our Threshold what he hears:
And that thy Boon Companions may be fit,
Septimius too, and Brutus I'le invite:
And if no dearer Miss, or better Feast,
Holds Sabin, He shall make another Guest:
I've Room enough, and each may bring his Friends,
But sweat at Tables too much throng'd offends:
Pray send me word what time you will be here,
How many Friends you'l bring; forget thy Care,
And whilst thy Clients throng about thy Hall,
Creep forth thro the Back-door, and bob 'em All.