To a love-feast we both invited are: The figur’d damask, or pure diaper, Over the golden altar now is spread, With bread, and wine, and vessels furnished; The sacred towel and the holy ewer Are ready by, to make the guests all pure: Let’s go, my Alma; yet, ere we receive, Fit, fit it is we have our parasceve. Who to that sweet bread unprepar’d doth come, Better be starv’d, than but to taste one crumb.