Upon Shark. Epig.

Shark, when he goes to any public feast,
Eats to one's thinking, of all there, the least.
What saves the master of the house thereby
When if the servants search, they may descry
In his wide codpiece, dinner being done,
Two napkins cramm'd up, and a silver spoon?

Robert Herrick

Robert Herrick was a 17th-century English lyric poet and cleric. He is known for his book of poems, "Hesperides," which includes the carpe diem poem "To the Virgins, to Make Much of Time." His works are noted for their clarity, simplicity, and musical quality. Herrick was also a vicar of Dean Prior in Devon, despite being ejected during the English Civil War and later reinstated.

Robert Herrick

Lines Have Their Linings, And Books Their Buckram.

Robert Herrick, Simple Poetry

How Pansies Or Hearts-Ease Came First

Robert Herrick, Simple Poetry

To Rosemary And Bays.

Robert Herrick, Simple Poetry

Rest.

Robert Herrick, Simple Poetry

English

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Upon Shewbread. Epig.

Last night thou didst invite me home to eat;
And showed me there much plate, but little meat.
Prithee, when next thou do'st invite, bar state,
And give me meat, or give me else thy plate.

Robert Herrick

Upon Spokes.

Spokes, when he sees a roasted pig, he swears
Nothing he loves on't but the chaps and ears:
But carve to him the fat flanks, and he shall
Rid these, and those, and part by part eat all.

Robert Herrick

Upon Skinns. Epig.

Skinns, he dined well to-day: how do you think?
His nails they were his meat, his rheum the drink.

Robert Herrick

Upon Adam Peapes. Epig.

Peapes he does strut, and pick his teeth, as if
His jaws had tir'd on some large chine of beef.
But nothing so: the dinner Adam had,
Was cheese full ripe with tears, with bread as sad.

Robert Herrick

Oberon's Feast

Hapcot! To thee the Fairy State
I with discretion, dedicate.
Because thou prizest things that are
Curious, and un-familiar.
Take first the feast; these dishes gone,
We'll see the Fairy Court anon.
A little mushroom table spread,
After short prayers, they set on bread;
A moon-parched grain of purest wheat,
With some small glit'ring grit, to eat
His choice bits with; then in a trice
They make a feast less great than nice.
But all this while his eye is serv'd,
We must not think his ear was sterv'd:
But that there was in place to stir
His spleen, the chirring grasshopper,
The merry cricket, the puling fly,
The piping gnat for minstralcy.
And now, we must imagine first,
The elves present to quench his thirst
A pure seed-pearl of infant dew,

Robert Herrick

Upon Hog.

Hog has a place i' the' kitchen, and his share,
The flimsy livers and blue gizzards are.

Robert Herrick