The Epicureanism of this week's poem, Ben Jonson's Inviting a Friend to Supper, serves as a reassuring end-of-holiday reminder that it's not impossible "to eat, drink and be merry" and still get up for work the next day. Ben Jonson's poem, number 101 (CI) of his Epigrams balances the luxury and liberty of happy home-dining with the classical ideal of restraint.
The whole collection is dedicated to the author's most steadfast patron, William Herbert, the Earl of Pembroke, and he is the guest to whom Jonson is making his graceful and witty invitation. Others will be present, but the guest who will bring grace to the otherwise worthless supper is William Herbert.
Originally an inscription on a statue or monument, the epigram gained a little weight in becoming a favourite classical literary genre. Jonson enjoys those more discursive possibilities here. The meter itself, the heroic couplet, allows room for the leisurely syntax of courtesy – and description.
In the opening lines Jonson lays out the request as if preparing an exquisite table-setting. The courtesy is exaggerated, but not to the extent of satirising his enterprise or his guest: "It is the fair acceptance, sir, creates/ The entertainment perfect, not the cates." After all, the poet proceeds to elaborate on the supposedly unimportant grub. You feel that the guest is also the guest of the poem's humour: he is invited to smile.
After metaphorically setting the table, Jonson serves the feast. The menu is lavish, particularly regarding the varieties of game-bird, but there is a ready acknowledgment of possible restrictions. The delicacies must be seasonal and affordable. The speaker's means appear fairly modest: he has no cellar, because the supply of "rich Canary wine" will need to be bought from the Mermaid – the local tavern, I presume. Reading through the courses listed in this part of the poem is like watching a 17th-century version of the TV series, Come Dine with Me. But, if the printed poem represents the public face of the occasion, its argument makes very clear the high value on privacy. Pooley and Parrot (l. 36) were government informers: they may have been informers on Jonson himself. The shared meal is above all a setting in which friends can speak freely.
Was Jonson's supper an actual occasion? Versified invitations were once common, and this one may well have served the purpose it declares. At the same time, like many of the Epigrams, the poem involves considerable imitation, with sources in three epigrams by Martial: 5.78, 19.48 and 11.52. In 11.52, for example, Martial tells Julius Cerialis, "I will deceive you to make you come," echoed by Jonson in l. 17. The promise not to read from his own work is also made by Martial's speaker.
These borrowings don't mean that the poem is only a literary game. They inscribe the humanistic values shared by poet and patron. Jonson's concluding lines reject physical excess, including, perhaps, the drunken insult regretted the morning after. But the poem's deeper thrust is against political excess, and the acts of treachery which "affright/ The liberty that we'll enjoy tonight."
Inviting a Friend to Supper
Tonight, grave Sir, both my poor house, and I
Do equally desire your company;
Not that we think us worthy such a guest,
But that your worth will dignify our feast
With those that come, whose grace may make that seem
Something, which else could hope for no esteem.
It is the fair acceptance, Sir, creates
The entertainment perfect, not the cates.
Yet shall you have, to rectify your palate,
An olive, capers, or some better salad
Ushering the mutton; with a short-legged hen,
If we can get her, full of eggs, and then
Lemons, and wine for sauce; to these a cony
Is not to be despaired of, for our money;
And, though fowl, now, be scarce, yet there are clerks,
The sky not falling, think we may have larks.
I'll tell you of more, and lie, so you will come:
Of partridge, pheasant, woodcock, of which some
May yet be there, and godwit, if we can;
Knat, rail, and ruff too. Howsoe'er, my man
Shall read a piece of Virgil, Tacitus,
Livy, or of some better book to us,
Of which we'll speak our minds, amidst our meat;
And I'll profess no verses to repeat.
To this, if ought appear which I not know of,
That will the pastry, not my paper, show of.
Digestive cheese and fruit there sure will be;
But that which most doth take my Muse and me,
Is a pure cup of rich Canary wine,
Which is the Mermaid's now, but shall be mine;
Of which had Horace, or Anacreon tasted,
Their lives, as so their lines, till now had lasted.
Tobacco, nectar, or the Thespian spring,
Are all but Luther's beer to this I sing.
Of this we will sup free, but moderately,
And we will have no Pooley, or Parrot by,
Nor shall our cups make any guilty men;
But, at our parting we will be as when
We innocently met. No simple word
That shall be uttered at our mirthful board,
Shall make us sad next morning or affright
The liberty that we'll enjoy tonight.