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HANKS, my lord, for your venifon, for finer or

Never rang'd in a foreft, or fmoak'd in a platter;
The haunch was a picture for painter's to ftndy,
The fat was fo white, and the lean was fo ruddy,
Tho' my ftomach was fharp, I could fcarce help re-

To fpoil fuch a delicate picture by eating;

I had thoughts in my chamber to fet it in view,
To be fhewn to my friends as a piece of virtu;

As in fome Irish houfes, where things are fo fo,
One gammon of bacon hangs up for a fhow:
But for eating a rafher of what they take pride in,
They'd as foon think of eating the pan it is fry'd in.
But hold let me pause-don't I hear you pronounce,
This tale of the bacon's a damnable bounce;
Well, fuppofe it a bounce-fure a poet may try,
By a bounce now and then, to get courage to fly.

But, my lord, it's no bounce: I proteft in my turn, It's a truth-and your lordship may afk Mr. Burn. * To go on with my tale-as I gaz'd on the haunch; I thought of a friend that was trufty and ftaunch, So I cut it, and fent it to Reynold's undrest, To paint it, or eat it, juft as he lik'd best. Of the neck and the breaft I had next to difpofe ; 'Twas a neck and a breast that might rival Monro's: But in parting with these I was puzzled again,

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,
I think they love venifon, I know they love beef,
There's my countryman Higgins-Oh! let him alone,
For making a blunder, or picking a bone.
But hang it to poets who feldom can eat,
Your very good mutton's a very good treat;
Such dainties to them their health it might hurt,
It's like fending them ruffles, wanting a shirt.
While thus I debated in reverie center'd,

An acquaintance, a friend as he call'd himself, enter'd;
An underbred, fine-fpoken fellow was he,

And he fmil'd as he look'd at the venifon and me. What have we got here?-Why this is good eating! Your own I fuppofe-or is it in waiting?

*Lord Clare's Nephew.

Why whofe fhould it be? cried I, with a flounce,


get these things often ;-but that was a bounce; Some lords, my acquaintance, that fettle the nation, Are pleas'd to be kind-but I hate oftentation.

If that be the cafe 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 infift on't- precifely at three: We'll have Johnson, and Burke, all the wits will be there, My acquaintance is flight, or I'd afk my lord Clare. And, now that I think on't, as I am a finner ! We wanted this venison to make out the dinner. What fay you-a pafty, it fall, and it muft, And my wife, little Kitty, is famous for cruft. Here, porter-this venifon with me to Mile-end; No ftirring-I beg-my dear friend-my dear friend!) Thus fnatching his hat, he brush'd off like the wind, And the porter and eatables follow'd behind.

Left alone to reflect, having emptied my shelf, And nobody with me at fea but myfelf;" * Tho' I could not help thinking my gentleman hafty, Yet Johnfon, and Burke, and a good venifon pafty, Were things that I never difliked in my life, Tho' clogg'd with a coxcomb, and Kitty his wife. So next day in due fplendor 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 quite dumb,

With tidings that Johnfon, and Burke would not come,

See the letters that paffed between his royal highnefs Henry duke of Cumberland, and lady Grófvenor1769.


For I knew it, he cried, both eternally fail,
The one with his fpeeches, and t'other with Thrale ;
But no matter I'll warrant we'll make up the party,
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 Snarler, the other the Scourge ;
Some thinks he writes Cinna-he owns to Panurge.
While thus he defcrib'd 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 feen, At the bottom was tripe in a fwinging tureen; At the fides 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 Perfian; So there I fat ftuck, like a horfe in a pound, While the bacon and liver went merrily round: But what vex'd me moft, was that d-d Scottish rogue, With his long-winded fpeeches, his fmiles and his brogue,

And, madam, quoth he, may this bit be my poison,
A prettier dinner I never fet eyes on ;

Pray a flice of your liver, tho' may I be curft,
But I've eat at your tripe till I'm ready to burst.
The tripe, quoth the Jew, with his chocolate cheek,
I could dine on this tripe feven days in the week :
I like these here dinners fo pretty and fmall;
But your friend there the doctor, eats nothing at all.
O-oh! quoth my friend he'll come on in a trice,
He's keeping a corner for fomething that's nice :
There's a party!-a pafty repeated the jew :
I don't care if keep a corner for t too.
What the deil, mon, a paity! re-echo'd the Scot;
Though splitting I'll fill keep a corner for that.
We'll all keep a corner, the lady cried out.
We' all keep a corner, was echo'd about.

While thus we refolv'd, and the pafly delay'd,
With looks that quite petrified, enter'd the maid;
A vifage fo fad, and fo pale with affright,
Wak'd Priam in drawing his curtain by night.
But we quickly found out, for who could mistake her,
That he came with fome terrible news from the baker:
And fo it fell cut, for that negligent floven,
Had fhut out the pafty in fhutting the oven.
Sad Philomel thus-but let fimilies drop-
And now that I think on't, the flory may flop.
To be plain, my good lord, it's but labour misplac'd,
To fend fuch good verfes to one of your tafte;
You've got an odd fomething-a kind of difcerning-
A relish a tafte-ficken'd over by learning;
At least, its your temper as very well known,
That you think very flightly of all that's your own;
So, perhaps, in your habits of thinking amifs,
You may make a mistake, and think slightly of this,

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