text: Tonight, grave sir, both my poor house, and I
  Do equally desire your company;
  Not that we think us worthy such a guest,
  But that your worth will dignify our feast
  With those that come, whose grace may make that seem
  Something, which else could hope for no esteem.
  It is the fair acceptance, sir, creates
  The entertainment perfect, not the cates.
  Yet shall you have, to rectify your palate,
  An olive, capers, or some better salad
  Ushering the mutton; with a short-legged hen,
  If we can get her, full of eggs, and then
  Lemons, and wine for sauce; to these a cony
  Is not to be despaired of, for our money;
  And, though fowl now be scarce, yet there are clerks,
  The sky not falling, think we may have larks.
  Ill tell you of more, and lie, so you will come:
  Of partridge, pheasant, woodcock, of which some
  May yet be there, and godwit, if we can;
  Knat, rail, and ruff too. Howsoeer, my man
  Shall read a piece of Virgil, Tacitus,
  Livy, or of some better book to us,
  Of which well speak our minds, amidst our meat;
  And Ill profess no verses to repeat.
  To this, if ought appear which I not know of,
  That will the pastry, not my paper, show of.
  Digestive cheese and fruit there sure will be;
  But that which most doth take my Muse and me,
  Is a pure cup of rich Canary wine,
  Which is the Mermaids now, but shall be mine;
  Of which had Horace, or Anacreon tasted,
  Their lives, as so their lines, till now had lasted.
  Tobacco, nectar, or the Thespian spring,
  Are all but Luther's beer to this I sing.
  Of this we will sup free, but moderately,
  And we will have no Pooley, or Parrot by,
  Nor shall our cups make any guilty men;
  But, at our parting we will be as when
  We innocently met. No simple word
  That shall be uttered at our mirthful board,
  Shall make us sad next morning or affright
  The liberty that well enjoy tonight.