A really good poem by Ben Jonson.

Inviting a Friend to Supper

by Ben Jonson

             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 you shall 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 coney
             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.
             I'll 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. Howsoe'er, my man
             Shall read a piece of Virgil, Tacitus,
             Livy, or of some better book to us,
             Of which we'll speak our minds, amidst our meat;
             And I'll profess no verses to repeat;
             To this, if aught 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 Mermaid's now, but shall be mine;
             Of which had Horace or Anacreon tasted,
             Their lives, as do 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 Poley 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 we'll enjoy tonight.