At the Sacrificial Feast

In robe of silk, all spick and span,
And festal cap, the reverent man
From hall to basement now descends,
From ram to bull his way he wends.
Arrayed are tripod pot and pan,
Curved cup of horn of unicorn.
And mellow wine of flavour fine.
No noise, no bluster here — sure gage
Of life prolonged to green old age.