Tho' the Muse had deny'd me so often before,
I ventur'd this Day to invoke her once more.
She ask'd what I wanted; I said, with Delight,
Your Lordship had promis'd to sup here To--night;
That on an Occasion so much to my Honour,
I hop'd she'd excuse me for calling upon her.
To this she reply'd, with Disdain in her Looks:
If that be the Case, go summon your Cooks.
I told her in Answer, How little you eat;
That in vain I should hope to regale you with Meat;
That she knew, Wit and Humour to you were a Feast,
Who had, tho' no Stomach, an excellent Taste.
This calm'd her Resentment; she paus'd for a while--
Then the Goddess, propitious, reply'd with a Smile:
If with Humour and Wit you would have him delighted.
What need I be call'd?--Let the Dean be invited.
The Bus'ness is done, if with him you prevail;
For a Boyle, and a Swift, will each other regale.
Mary Barber
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/to-the-right-hon-the-earl-of-orrery-on-his-promise-to-sup-with-the-author/
