SIR EPICURE MAMMON
I will have all my beds blown up, not stuft; Down is too hard: and then, mine oval room Fill'd with such pictures as Tiberius took From Elephantis, and dull Aretine But coldly imitated. Then, my glasses Cut in more subtle angles, to disperse And multiply the figures, as I walk Naked between my succubae. My mists I'll have of perfume,…