I beg you come to-night and dine. 
A welcome waits you, and sound wine-- 
The Roederer chilly to a charm, 
As Juno's breath the claret warm, 
The sherry of an ancient brand. 
No Persian pomp, you understand-- 
A soup, a fish, two meats, and then 
A salad fit for aldermen 
(When alderman, alas, the days! 
Were really worth their mayonnaise); 
A dish of grapes whose clusters won 
Their bronze in Carolinian sun; 
Next, cheese--for you the Neufchâtel, 
A bit of Cheshire likes me well; 
Café au lait or coffee black, 
With Kirsch or Kümmel or Cognac 
(The German band in Irving Place 
By this time purple in the face); 
Cigars and pipes. These being through, 
Friends shall drop in, a very few-- 
Shakespeare and Milton, and no more. 
When these are guests I bolt the door, 
With Not at Home to any one 
Excepting Alfred Tennyson.