Le Banquet

There came an invitation to a banquet: "The Lady of the Manor bids thee cheer. We’ve meat and drink sufficient for the twelvemonth And summon thee for Pentecost this year. We honor thee a seat on the pavilion And ask thee as a noble honored guest, In keeping with the manner of tradition. Regale us with the marvels of thy quest." I made resolve departure on the morrow And ventured to the sands that marched nigh Wales, Acquainted with the last of my provisions Not long before the height of my travails. A page announced the word of my reception. The steward made me place upon the board. I sensed a vague discomfort at the seating, But bade the issue seek its own accord. They served me wine of nary any vintage. A coarse cut crust of bread lay in a bowl. The kitchen maid then ushered in a trencher Of four and twenty minnow over sole. The fish was cold; the sauce was thin as water. My questions rang as though the maid were deaf; Pray tell me why my supper reeks of stables, And please return this offal to the chef. I found the feast a gospel of demerit And wondered what betide the warder’s art, With bill of fare unjustly less than tasteful; A feeble blend of spices lacking heart. And so resides the moral of this story, The nut inside the shell within the husk: Nobility’s no guarantee of flavor, And prompt, attentive service is a must.