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Till sapp'd their strength, and every part unsound,
And half the business of destruction done;
Down where yon anchoring vessel spreads the sail
Pass from the shore, and darken all the strand.
And kind connubial tenderness, are there;
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 ; Tho' 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, my lord, it's no bounce: I protest in my turn,
Lord Clare's nephew.
But in parting with these I was puzzled again, With the how, and the who, and the where, and the
There's H-d, and C-y, and H-rth, and H-ff,
And he smil'd as he look'd at the venison and me.
"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 :
66 We'll have Johnson and Burke, all the wits will be
"My acquaintance is slight, or I'd ask my lord Clare. "And, now that I think on't, as I am a sinner! "We wanted this venison to make out a dinner. "What say you-a pasty; it shall, and it must, "And my wife, little Kitty, is famous for crust. "Here, porter-this, venison with me to Mile-end ; " "No stirring-I beg-my dear friend-my dear friend!" Thus snatching 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 sea but myself."
Tho' I could not help thinking my gentleman hasty,
When come to the place where we were all to dine, (A chair-lumber'd closet, just twelve feet by nine) My friend bade me welcome,but struck me quite dumb, With tidings that Johnson and Burke would not come; "For I knew it," he cry'd, "both eternally fail, "The one with his speeches, 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 think he writes Cinna-he owns to Panurge." While thus he describ'd them by trade and by name, They enter'd, and dinner was served as they came.
At the top a fry'd liver and bacon were seen, At the bottom was tripe, in a swinging tureen; At the sides there were spinage and pudding made hot; In the middle a place where the pasty-was not. Now, my lord, as for tripe it's my utter aversion, And your bacon I hate like a Turk or a Persian; So there I sat stuck, like a horse in a pound, While the bacon and liver went merrily round: But what vex'd me most, was that d-'d Scottish rogue, With his long-winded speeches, his smiles and his brogue;
And, "madam," quoth he," may this bit be my poison, "A prettier dinner I never set eyes on;
Pray a slice of your liver, tho' may I be curst, "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 a 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 pasty"-" 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; "Tho' splitting, I'll still keep a corner for that." "We'll all keep a corner," the lady cry'd out; "We'll all keep a corner, was echo'd about." While thus we resolv'd and the pasty delay'd, With looks that quite petrified, enter'd the maid; A visage so sad, and so pale with affright, Wak'd Priain in drawing his curtains by night; But we quickly found out, for who could mistake her, That she came with some terrible news from the bakeri And so it fell out, for that negligent sloven, Had shut out the pasty on shutting his oven. Sad Philomel thus-but let similes dropAnd now that I think on't the story may stop. To be plain, my good lord, it's but labor misplac'd, To send such good verses to one of your taste; You've got an odd something-a kind of discerning→ A relish-a taste-sicken'd over by learning; At least, it's your temper, as very well known, That you think very slightly of all that's your own: So perhaps, in your habits of thinking amiss, You may make a mistake and think slightly of this.
old, when Scarron his companions invited, Each guest brought his dish, and the feast was united.
• Dr. Goldsmith and some of his friends occasionally dined at the St. James's Coffee-house.-One day it was pro