Farewell; and O! where'er thy voice be tried, THE HAUNCH OF VENISON. THANKS, my lord, for your venison, for finer or fatter Never rang'd in a forest, or smok'd in a platter; The haunch was a picture for painters to study, The fat was so white, and the lean was so ruddy; Though my stomach was sharp, I could scarce help regretting To spoil such a delicate picture by eating: I had thoughts, in my chambers to place it in view, But, for eating a rasher of what they take pride in, This tale of the bacon's a damnable bounce? But, my lord, it's no bounce: I protest in my turn, It's a truth-and your lordship may ask Mr, Burn*. To go on with my tale-As I gaz'd on the haunch; I thought of a friend that was trusty and staunch, • Lord Clare's nephew. So I cut it, and sent it to Reynolds undrest, Of the neck and the breast I had next to dispose ; With the how, and the who, and the where, and the when. There's H-d, and C-y, and H-rth, and H—ff, But hang it-to poets who seldom can eat, Such dainties to them their health it might hurt, An acquaintance, a friend as he call'd himself, enter'd ; An under-bred, fine-spoken fellow was he, And he smil'd as he look'd at the ven'son and me. What have we got here? Why this is good eating! Your own I suppose-or is it in waiting?" Why whose should it be?' cried I with a flounce: I get these things often-but that was a bounce: Some lords, my acquaintance, that settle the nation, Are pleas'd to be kind-but I hate ostentation.' If that be the case then,' cried he, very gay, I'm glad I have taken this house in my way. To-morrow you take a poor dinner with me; No words-I insist on't-precisely at three: We'll have Johnson, and Burke, all the wits will be there; My acquaintance is slight, or I'd ask my lord Clare. We wanted this venison to make out a dinner. |