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To go on with my tale—as I gaz'd on the haunch,
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 a very good treat; Such dainties to them their health it might hurt, It's like sending them ruffles, when wanting a shirt. While thus I debated, in reverie centred, An acquaintance, a friend as he call’d himself,
enter'd; e An underbred, fine spoken fellow was he, And he smil'd as he look'd at the venison and me.
b There's Coley, and Williams, and Howard, and Hiffc that d - It would look like a flirt,
Like sending 'em ruffles — • A fine spoken customhouse officer he,
Who smil'd as he gaz'd on 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 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. And now that I think on't, as I am a sinner! 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 crust. Here, porter—this venison with me to Mile-end; & No stirring—I beg—my dear friend—my dear friend!
[wind, Thus snatching his hat, he brush'd off like the And the porter and eatables follow'd behind.
Left alone to reflect, having emptied my shelf,
VARIATIONS. - make up the dinner, I'll take no denial-you shall, and you must. & No words, my dear Goldsmith! my very good friend ! h seizing
And • nobody with me at sea but myself;'?
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 dumb,
(come; With tidings that Johnson and Burke i would not * 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're both of them merry, and authors like you; The one writes the Snarler, the other the Scourge; Some thinks he writes Cinna-heowns to Panurge.' While thus he describ'd them by trade and by name, They enter'd, and dinner was serv'd as they came.
? See the letters that passed between his royal highness Henry Duke of Cumberland, and Lady Grosvenor-12mo, 1769.
k at the house,
But, I warrant for me, we shall make up the party. I Who dabble and write in the papers, like you.
At the top a fried liver and bacon were seen, At the bottom was tripe, in a swinging tureen; At the sides there was 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 damn’d Scottish
rogue, With his long winded speeches, his smiles and his
brogue, And, Madam,'quoth he,ʻmay this bit be my poison,
A prettier dinner I never set eyes on; Pray a slice of your liver, though may I be curst, But I've eat of your tripe till I'm ready to burst;' 0. The tripe, quoth the Jew, with his chocolate
cheek, “I could Pdine on this tripe seven days in the week: I like these here dinners so pretty and small; But your friend there, the doctor, eats nothing at
all.' 0-oh!' quoth my friend,' he'll come on in a trice, He's keeping a corner for something that's nice:
VARIATIONS. u venison
If a prettier dinner I ever set eyes on ! oYour tripe !' quoth the Jew, “if the truth I may speak. P eat of
9 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-echoed the Scot; • Though splitting, I'll still 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 pasty delay'd, With looks "that quite petrified, enter'd the maid; A visage so sad, and so pale with affright, Wak'd Priam in drawing his curtains by night. But we quickly found out, for who could mistake her?
[baker: That she came with some terrible news from the And so it fell out, for that negligent sloven Had shut out the pasty on shutting his oven. Sad Philomel thus—but let similes drop And now that I think on't, the story may stop. To be plain, my good lord, it's but labour misplac'd, To send such good verses to one of your taste; You've got an odd something—a kind of dis
cerning 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.
q • There's a pasty. A pasty !' returned the Scot;
• I don't care if I keep a corner for thot.' r looks quite astonishing
too soon we