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THANKS, my lord, for your venison, for finer or

fatter Never rang'd in a forest, or smoak'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 re

gretting, To spoil such a delicate picture by eating; I had thoughts, in my chambers, to place it in view, To be thewn to my friends as a piece of 'virtu ; As in some Irish houses, where things are so so, One gammon cf bacon hangs up for a show : G 2

But,

But, for eating a rasher of what they take pride in,
They'd as soon 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, fuppose it a bounce---sure a poet may try,
By a bounce now and then, to get courage to fly,

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, So I cut it, and sent it to Reynolds undrest, To paint it, or eat it, just as he lik'd best, Of the neck and the breast I had next to dispose ; "Twas a neck and a breast that might rival Monroe'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 venison-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 seldom can eat,
Your very good mutton's á very good treat;
Such dainties to them their health it might hurt,
It's like sending them ruffles, when vanting a fhirt,

Lord Clare's nephew,

"While N I SO

While thus I debated, in reverie center'd,
An acquaintance, a friend as he call'd himself, en-

ter'd ; An under-bred, fine-spoken fellow was he, "And he smil'd as he look'd at the venison 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 oftentation.”

“ 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 infift on't-precisely at three : We'll have Johnson, and Burke, all the wits will be

there ; My acquaintance is flight, or I'd ask 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 say you—a pasty, it shall, and it must, And my wife, little Kitty, is famous for cruft. Here, porter—this venison with me to Mile-end; No stirring—I beg my dear friend my dear friend !” Thus snatching his hat, he brusht off like the wind, And the porter and eatables follow'd behind.

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Left alone to reflect, having emptied my shelf, And “nobody with me at sea but myself;" * Tho' I could not help thinking my gentleman hafty, Yet Johnson, and Burke, and a good venison pasty, 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 splendour 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 closet just twelve feet by nine :) My friend bade me welcome, but struck me quite

duinb, 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
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 described them by trade and by name,
They enter'd, and dinner was serv’d as they came.

a

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.

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