'Tis not the food, but the content That makes the Tables merriment. Where Trouble serves the board, we eate The Platters there, as soone as meat. A little Pipkin with a bit Of Mutton, or of Veale in it, Set on my Table, (Trouble-free) More then a Feast contenteth me. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE TEST by RALPH WALDO EMERSON ECHOES: 9 by WILLIAM ERNEST HENLEY THE ARTILLERYMAN'S VISION by WALT WHITMAN A SATIRE [OR, SATYR] AGAINST MANKIND by JOHN WILMOT THE BURIED FLOWER by WILLIAM EDMONSTOUNE AYTOUN |