Game (hunting)

"The bird, that’s fetcht from Phasis flood, Or choysest Hens of Affricke brood; These please our palats. And why these? Cause they can but seldome please. Whilst the Goose soe goodly white, And the drake yeeld noe delight, Though his wings conceited hewe Paint each feather, as if new. These for vulgar stomackes be, And relish not of raritye. But the pretious Scarus, sought In farthest clime; what e’re is bought With Shipwrackes toyle, ô, that is sweet, ’Cause the quicksands handseld it. The pretious Barbill, now groune rife, Is cloying meat. How stale is Wife? Deare Wife hath ne’re a handsome letter, Sweet Mistresse soundes a great deale better. Rose quakes at name of Cinnamon. Unles’t be rare, what’s thought upon?"

"Souls of Poets dead and gone, What Elysium have ye known, Happy field or mossy cavern, Choicer than the Mermaid Tavern? Have ye tippled drink more fine Than mine host’s Canary wine? Or are fruits of Paradise Sweeter than those dainty pies Of venison? O generous food! Drest as though bold Robin Hood Would, with his Maid Marian, Sup and bowse from horn and can."