I.

Her beating heart, and gladden'd eyes Perceive him ope the wicker gate; And swift her busy hand supplies The flowing bowl, the steaming plate; Her sparkling wine from their own vintage press'd; From their own stores her grateful viand dress'd; Less welcome far the proud collation, Cull'd with painful preparation, When earth, and air, and seas, have been explor'd For those expensive meats, that pile the Consul's board.