EPULAE THYESTEAE: OR, The THANKSGIVING-DINNER: WHERE The Devil finds all, Meat, Cooks, Guests, etc.  
TOGETHER WITH THE CITY PRESENT.  
ALSO A Short GRACE after a Long Dinner. AND A GOD-SPEED.  
LONDON. Printed in the Year, 1648.   

AEPULAE THYESTEAE: OR, The THANKSGIVING-DINNER: WHERE The Devil finds all, Meat, Cooks, Guests, etc.  

ENjoy the Angry Powers: Do, Feast away  
The sense of your high Crimes, & Judgment-day:  
Mix your Frontiniack with Lethêan Drops,  
And Crown your guilty Heads with Poppy tops.  
Error hath seized, Oblivion seal your Souls;  
And as your Sins are deep, so be your Bowls.  
Let the Starved Country see your notous Feast,  
Neither with Grace, nor Peace, nor Conscience blest,   

Let stupid England see the Goblet Crowned  
Wherein is quaffed their Ninety Thousand Pound  
Per Mensem: There we may those Epicures see  
've put the Kingdom to an Atrophy.   

It is a Collar Day, Saint-Traytors Day,  
Wherein that Pseudomartyr Goodwin may,  
Inspired by Lucifer, give Thanks; and can  
Invert the Words of outdone julian,  
(Puny Apostate, He! oth'Lower Room!)  
And say, The Galilaeans overcome:  
Yet dare He Text it from the Bible, Than  
When he both Prays and Preaches Koran.   

There Peter, the Denier (nay, 'tis said  
He, that (Disguised) Cut off his Master's Head)  
That Godly Pigeon of Apostasy,  
Does buzz about his Anti-Monarchy:  
His Scaffold-Doctrines; and such murdering stuff,  
Which yet Wounds nought but the affrighted Ruff  
Of the Lapsed Aldermen; who have made good  

* E. of Strafford was accused for saying, [It would never be well with London, till half a dozen Aldermen were hanged.]  Strafford's dark Maxim, now well understood:  
" 'twill ne'er be well with England, till we see  
" The Compliment of Strafford's Prophecy:  
" The truth is still the same, the number more,  
" Fifteen will but serve now; Six would before.   

Sermon being done and Scripture, the Ruffs fall  
Fore CRUMWELL Bell, and Dragon GENERAL,  
Long Live CUSTODES; that's the Cry. What's He?  
In English thus, Long Live our SLAVERY.  
Custodes is the style, which Pluto lent  
In special Grace unto the Parliament,  
Puzzled what Title to assume: No shame;  
Father and Sons may go by the same Name.  
For These this Feast is kept, while Orphans cry,  
And I and Lilburne are in Custody.   

The Anthropophagis are set: They Feed,  
" Let them Feed on, 'twill be their Time to Bleed.   

First Course is Bishop's Lands; A stately Dish,  
Quoth OLIVER, and Cooked unto my Wish.  
Next, in a Charger, Deans and Chapters are  
Placed against Martin; 'Tis Marprelates Fare.  
Reach that great Oleo to the General,  
Th' Estates of poor Delinquents; Give't him All.  
Lenthall and St. john's, both, are feeding hard on  
A Glorious Mess; O! 'tis a general Pardon.  
Prideaux is Late come in, and had almost  
Staying for Packet-money, kissed the Post.  
Mildmay is for his Didledam's; and owns  
No Fare so choice, as that of precious Stones.   

" Goodwin and Peter at a Table sit,  
" Eating Sequestered Live at a bit.   

But, O! Custodes rail upon the Cook's  
Full sore; The King's, Queen's, Prince's Lands & Duke's  
Are not enough, their stomaches wamble; they  
Fear Their Digestion, that They will not stay;  
A filthy Norman Hogo of a Nullum  
Occurrit Regi, does like Stibium pull 'um.  
The judges have, in skins of Parchment, boiled  
A Magna-Charta-Pudding; which was spoiled  
And Broke it i'th' Seithing; that nor Wild, nor Pheasant  
Can find one Reason in't, or aught that's pleasant.  
Nick Oldsworth in his Independent Clothes  
Is feeding PEMBROKE with a Broth of Oaths.   

" BRADSHAW surveys the Dishes and the Meat,  
" And likes All Well; but yet— He dares not Eat.   

Now, for a Cheese and for Digestions sake  
The SEAL is brought; and Atkins gives a Cake.   

They're Filled; not Satisfied: They're now for Wine.  
O for a Draught, such as black Catiline  
Drank to be-ransacked Rome! Hark! Ner●'s Song,  
Whilst the Accursed Health doth pass along.   

Viner the Goblet holds, and Peter Fills;  
And Goodwin Consecrates; and CRUMWELL swills:  
The Draught is CHARLES his blood, a crimson wine,  
The Health's [Confusion to the Royal Line.] Hall,  
The Health goes round, Round through the Cursed  
" And no Man sees, THE HAND UPON THE WALL.    

THE CITY PRESENT.  

A Basin and Ewer to the General, of pure Gold.  
ACcept (Black Sir) this Glorious Ewer, where we  
Present, in Beaten Gold, like Loyalty:  
We do Confess you high and Fortunate,  
Or else this Gift had been a Massy-Plate.  
The Basin is Antique, a richer show  
Than that the Jews on Pilate did bestow.  
Your services are not much less; It stands  
Ready to Wash Your Excellent-Murth'rous Hands.   

A Basin and Ewer to the Lieut. Gen: of pure Silver.  
GReat Sir, that you may know we have a sense  
Of your high Parts, and candid Innocence,  
With Purest Silver we present those Hands  
Made to bring Peace and Blessings on all Lands.  
Ireland expects your Sovereign Face; and cries,  
Come Oliver, or bleeding Ireland Dies.   

But as you pass by Windsor, if your Nose,  
Coming near CHARLES his Corpse, should aught disclose  
Oh! drop the Blood in this; for 'twas our Plate,  
(From Bodkins unto Basins) wrought His Fate.   

A short Grace, after a long Dinner.  
WE thank thee Oxford, thou hast given us Grace,  
And made us Doctors of thy learned Race.  
We thank thee London, eke, each Citizen,  
For Ye have made us more, Great Gifted Men.   

The God-speed.  
" Go on, impose upon the World, and Awe  
" All, till the SECOND comes and gives you Law.   
FINIS.