Classic Poem

A Deity of Love Incorporate
My Lord, lies in thy Flesh, in Dishes stable
Ten thousand times more rich than golden Plate
In golden Services upon thy Table,
To feast thy People with. What Feast is this!
Where richest Love lies Cookt in e'ry Dish?

A Feast, a Feast, a Feast of Spiced Wine
Of Wines upon the Lees, refined well
Of Fat things full of Marrow, things Divine
Of Heavens blest Cookery which doth excell.
The Smell of Lebanon, and Carmell sweet
Are Earthly damps unto this Heavenly reech.

This Shew-Bread Table all of Gold with white
Fine Table Linen of Pure Love, 's ore spred
And Courses in Smaragdine Chargers bright
Of Choicest Dainties Paradise e're bred.
Where in each Grace like Dainty Sippits lie
Oh! brave Embroderies of sweetest joy!

Oh! what a Feast is here? This Table might
Make brightest Angells blush to sit before.
Then pain my Soule! Why wantst thou appitite?
Oh! blush to thinke thou hunger dost no more.
There never was a feast more rich than this:
The Guests that Come hereto shall swim in bliss.