Here. I've removed the caesura marks from the lines which I think don't have an obvious place for pause.

But hark! || the chiming clocks to dinner call;
A hundred footsteps scrape the marble hall: [?]
The rich buffet well-coloured serpents grace, [?]
And gaping Tritons spew to wash your face. [?]
Is this dinner? || this a genial room?
No, 'tis a temple, || and a hecatomb.
A solemn sacrifice, || performed in state,
You drink by measure, || and to minutes eat.
So quick retires each flying course, || you'd swear
Sancho's dread doctor and his wand were there. [?]