THE JOLLY SUPPER

In Jaen where I'm abiding
Don Lope de Sosa dwells,
And my story, Ines, tells
Wonders past your mind's providing.

On this gentleman attended
A young squire from Portugal
But to supper let us fall
So my hunger may be ended.

For the table is awaiting
Where together we may sup;
Forth are set the steaming cup
And the glass, no more debating,

Cut the bread, ah, what a savor!
This hors d'œuvre is Paradise!
From the salpicón arise
Odors of a heavenly flavor.

Pour the wine into the glasses
And invoke a blessing now;
Every time I drink I vow
And bless each ruby drop that passes.

That was sure a healthy portion,
Ines, pass the bottle here;
Every mouthful would appear
Worth a florin, no extortion.

In what tavern do you buy it?
From the place by the ravine;
Ten and six a measure, clean,
Fresh and good and cheap to try it.

By the Lord, it is a treasure
That Alcocer tavern wine;
Certainly, I think it's fine
To have at hand so just a measure.

Whether old or new invention,
On my faith, I do not know,
But this I see that here below
The tavern came with good intention.

For 'tis there I go a-thirsting,
Order up the newest brew,
Mixing it they serve to you.
You pay and drink yourself to bursting.

This, my Ines, is its merit,
There's no need to sing its praise
The one objection that I raise,
The fleeting joy that we inherit.

Now, the lighter dishes over,
Tell me what is coming now?
The meat-pie! blessed brow,
Worthy of such noble cover!

What a dish it is, how hollow!
What meat and luscious fat it holds!
It seems, Ines, that it unfolds
Its depths for you and ine to swallow.

But onward, onward, without question,
For straight and narrow is the road;
No more water, let the load
Of wine, Ines, invite digestion.

Pour out the three-year vintage freely,
'Twill aid your stomach in its work.
How good to see you do not shirk
But take a grown man's portion, really!

Now tell me, is it not delightful
To have a dish so fine and rare,
With all its biting flavors there,
And all its spices fresh and spiteful?

Pine-nuts in its luscious dressing
Make the brave dame's meat-pie sweet;
And roasted by her there's a treat
In suckling pig that is a blessing.

As true as heaven 'tis fit to honor
The very table of the King;
A pork, Ines, the sweetest thing
With her delicious tripe upon her!

My very heart is filled with rapture;
I don't know how it is with you,
But taking now and then a view,
You seem contentment here to capture.

Great heavens! I am full of liquor;
But I would make a sage remark;
You brought one lamp to light the dark,
Now two before me seem to flicker.

But these are really drunken notions;
I know of course it had to be,
That with this heavy drink I'd see
The lights increasing with the potions.

Now let us try the tankard's juices,
Celestial beverage refined,
Superior to what we bind
In casks, it livelier joy produces.

What smoothness and what glassy clearness!
What taste and odor ratified!
What touch! What color there beside
And all that makes for luscious dearness!

But now there come the cheese and berry
To take their place upon the board;
And both it seems would claim award
Of cup and tankard passing merry.

Try the cheese, the choice from many,
Quite as good as Pinto 's best;
And the olives for the rest
They can hold their own with any.

Now then, Ines, if you're able
Take six mouthfuls from the flask
There is nothing more to ask;
Clear the covers from the table.

And as we have supped and rested
To our very hearts' content
It would seem the moment meant
For the story I suggested.

'Tis a tale, Ines, to win you
For the Portuguese fell ill
Eleven striking? Wait until
Tomorrow, I'll the tale continue.