Hi. Away with bad Presages. But why do you think so?
Le. Bloody Iambics are not fit for a Feast.
Cr. O brave! I am sure the Muses are amongst us, Verses flow so from us, when we don't think of 'em.
Si rotatiles trochaeos mavelis, en, accipe:
Vilis apparatus heic est, animus est lautissimus.
If you had rather have whirling Trochees, lo, here they are for you:
Here is but mean Provision, but I have a liberal Mind.
Although Iambics in old Time were made for Contentions and Quarrels, they were afterwards made to serve any Subject whatsoever. O Melons! Here you have Melons that grew in my own Garden. These are creeping Lettuces of a very milky Juice, like their Name. What Man in his Wits would not prefer these Delicacies before Brawn, Lampreys, and Moor-Hens?
Cr. If a Man may be allow'd to speak Truth at a Poetic Banquet, those you call Lettuces are Beets.
Hi. God forbid.
Cr. It is as I tell you. See the Shape of 'em, and besides where is the milky Juice? Where are their soft Prickles?
Hi. Truly you make me doubt. Soho, call the Wench. Margaret, you Hag, what did you mean to give us Beets instead of Lettuces?