The Banquet.

DIspatch, and to the Myrtle Grove convey
What-ever with the natural Pallat suits,
The Dayries Store with Sallads, Roots & Fruits;
I mean to play the Epicure to Day!
Let nought be wanting to compleat
Our Bloodless Treat;
But Bloodless let it be, for I've Decreed
The Grape Alone for this Repast shall Bleed. 
Sit worthy Friends — But ere we Feed,
Let Love b'expell'd the Company;
Let no mans Mirth Here interrupted be
With Thought of any Scornful Little She! 
Fall too my Friends. Trust me the Cheer is good!
Ah! (if our Bliss we Understood)
How shou'd we Bless th' Indulgent Fates!
Indulgent Fates, that with Content have stor'd
Our Rural Board,
A Rarity nere sound amongst the Cates
Of most Voluptuous Potentates.