Sonnet 81: An invitation to lunch
Shall I invite thee to a Monday lunch?
Thou art not likely to meet Falstaff’s men.
If Tuesday be the food of love, what then?
No doubt ‘tis taken by the one with hunch
(Alas, we knew him) who eats like a horse.
A horse! His kingdom for a salad bowl,
Dear friend and Roman - food for soul –
Yet out damned Wednes-bloody-day of course.
I sicken and so die on Fardel’s rums
Served hugger-mugger with those vasty cakes
(And something’s rotten in the Danish steaks).
Thursday? Nay, something wicked this way comes.
Cry, ‘God for Harry, England and St George!’
Let’s meet on Friday and some cheddar gorge?