The speaker is an artist with no money, and the party they throw exists only in their paintings. With paint they conjure a tavern, a fish, a whole dinner. It's a clever kind of generosity: if you can't afford a meal, you make one on the canvas.
The tone starts playful but turns sour in the last lines. "Wine together with wine" suggests the guests are just more painted versions of the same thing, so the "fine company" is really no company at all. Then the line "my head troubled with my head" points to the speaker alone, arguing with their own thoughts. The party leaves them "aching all night," like a hangover without any real drink.
The mood is wry and lonely. The poem jokes about hunger and imagination, but underneath it hints at how isolating it is to live on invention when real food and real people are missing.