Spring to thy feet The first of all, and drawing near thy lady Remove her chair and offer her thy hand, And lead her to the other rooms, nor suffer longer That the stale reek of viands shall offend Her delicate sense. Thee with the rest invites The grateful odor of the coffee, where It smokes upon a smaller table hid And graced with Indian webs. The redolent gums That meanwhile burn sweeten and purify The heavy atmosphere, and banish thence All lingering traces of the feast.--Ye sick And poor, whom misery or whom hope perchance Has guided in the noonday to these doors, Tumultuous, naked, and unsightly throng, With mutilated limbs and squalid faces, In litters and on crutches, from afar Comfort yourselves, and with expanded nostrils Drink in the nectar of the feast divine That favorable zephyrs waft to you; But do not dare besiege these noble precincts, Importunately offering her that reigns Within your loathsome spectacle of woe! --And now, sir, 'tis your office to prepare The tiny cup that then shall minister, Slow sipped, its liquor to thy lady's lips; And now bethink thee whether she prefer The boiling beverage much or little tempered With sweet; or if perchance she like it best As doth the barbarous spouse, then, when she sits Upon brocades of Persia, with light fingers The bearded visage of her lord caressing. With the dinner the second part of the poem, entitled The Noon, concludes, and The Afternoon begins with the visit which the hero and his lady pay to one of her friends. He has already thought with which of the husband's horses they shall drive out; he has suggested which dress his lady shall wear and which fan she shall carry; he has witnessed the agonizing scene of her parting with her lap-dog,--her children are at nurse and never intrude,--and they have arrived in the palace of the lady on whom they are to call: