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 Aldermen, 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 Neufchatel, A Bit Of Cheshire Likes Me Well; Cafe Au Lait Or Coffee Black, With Kirsch Or Kummel 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.