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While thus I debated, in reverie center'd,
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 oftentation."
• If that be the case then, cried he, very gay,
Left alone to reflect, having emptied my shelf, And “nobody with me at sea but my felf;"* Tho'I could not help thinking my gentleman hasty, Yet Johnson, and Burke, and a good venison pafty, Were things that I never dislik'd in my life, Though clogg'd with a coxcomb, and Kitty his wife. So next day in due fplendour to make my approach, I drove to his door in my own hackney-coach.
When come to the place where we all were to dine, (A chair-lumber'd clofet juft twelve feet by nine:) My friend bade me welcome, but ftruck me quité
dumb, With tidings that Johnson and Burke would not
come ; • For I knew it,” he cried, “ both eternally fail, The one with his speeches, and t'other with Thrale; But no matter, I'll warrant we'll make
up With two full as clever, and ten times as hearty. The one is a Scotchman, the other a Jew, They both of them merry, and authors like you ; The one writes the Sqarler, the other the Scourge; Some thinks he writes Cinna-he owns to Panurge." While thus he described them by trade and by name, They enter'd, and dinner was ferv'd as they came.
At the top a fried liver, and bacon were seen, At the bottom was tripe, in a swinging tureen ;
# See the letters that passed between his royal highness Henry duke of Cumberland, and lady Grosvenor 12° 1769.
At the sides there was fpinnage and pudding made
hot ; In the middle a place where the pasty-was not. Now, my lord, as for tripe it's my utter averfion; And your
bacon I hate like a Turk or a Persian, So there I fatfuck, like a horse in a pound, While the bacon and liver went merrily round: But what vex'd me molt, was that d'd Scottish
fögue, With his long-winded fpeeches, his fmiles and his
brogue; And, 'madam,' quoth he, "may this bit be my poifon, A prettier dinner I never fet eyes on ; Pray a slice of your liver, though may I be curit, But I've eat of your tripe, till I'm ready to burst," "The tripe, quoth the Jew, with his chocolate cheek I could dine on this tripe seven days in week : I like these here dinners so pretty and small ; But your friend there, the doctor, eats nothing at all.” “O-ho! quoth my friend he'll come on in a trice, He's keeping a corner for something that's nice : There's a pafty"_" a pasty !” repeated the Jew; I don't care, if I keep a corner for't too." What the de'il, mon, a pasty! re-echo'd the Scot; Though splitting, I'll ftill keep a corner for that." “We'll'all keep a corner, the lady cried out;" “We'll all keep a corner was echo'd about.” While thus we resolv'd, and the party delay'd, With looks that quite petrified, enter'd the maid;
A visage so fad, and so pale with affright,