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Last night the very gods showed me a vision-- I fast and prayed for their intelligence--thus: I saw Jove's bird, the Roman eagle, winged From the spongy south to this part of the west, There vanished in the sunbeams; which portends, Unless my sins abuse my divination, Success to th' Roman host.

My free drift Halts not particularly, but moves itself In a wide sea of wax; no levelled malice Infects one comma in the course I hold, But flies an eagle flight, bold and forth on, Leaving no tract behind.

The eagle suffers little birds to sing, And is not careful what they mean thereby, Knowing that with the shadow of his wings He can at pleasure stint their melody: Even so mayest thou the giddy men of Rome.

The eagle suffers little birds to sing, And is not careful what they mean thereby.

No, Antony, take the lot: But, first or last, your fine Egyptian cookery Shall have the fame. I have heard that Julius Caesar Grew faw with feasting there.

I almost die for food, and let me have it!

Sit down and feed, and welcome to our table.

Marry, he must have a long spoon that must eat with the devil.

Master, if you do, expect spoon-meat, or bespeak a long spoon.

Thou say'st his meat was sauced with thy upbradings; Unquiet meals make ill digestions; Thereof the raging fire of fever bred.

If you love an addle egg as well as you love an idle head, you would eat chickens i' th' shell.

He hath eaten me out of house and home; he hath put all of my substance into that fat belly of his.

He that keeps not crust nor crum Weary of all, shall want some.

Poor Tom, that eats the swimming frog, the toad, the todpole, the wall-newt and the water; that in the fury of his heart, when the foul fiend rages, eats cow-dung for sallets, swallows the old rat and the ditch-dog, drinks the green mantle of the standing pool; who is whipped from tithing to tithing, and stock-punished and imprisoned; who hath had three suits to his back, six shirts to his body, Horse to ride, and weapon to wear, But mice and rats, and such small deer, Have been Tom's food for seven long year.

Be it not in thy care. Go, I charge thee, invite them all; let in the tide Of knaves once more; my cook and I'll provide.

Each man to his stool, with that spur as he would to the lip of his mistress. Your diet shall be in all places alike; make not a City feast of it, to let the meat cool ere we can agree upon the first place; sit, sit. The gods require our thanks.

Fat paunches have lean pates, and dainty bits Make rich the ribs, but backrout quite the wits.

You would be, sweet madam, if your miseries were in the same abundance as your good fortunes are; and yet for aught I see, they are as sick that surfeit with too much as they that starve with nothing.

Come, we have a hot venison pasty to dinner.

I wished your venison better--it was ill killed.