THE HAUNCH OF VENISON.

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, a The fat was so white, and the lean was so ruddy; Though 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,
To be shown to my friends as a piece of virtù ;
As in some Irish houses, where things are so so,
One gammon of bacon hangs up for a show:
But, for eating a rasher of what they take pride in,
They'd as soon think of eating the pan it is fried in.
But hold-let me pause-don't I hear you pro-

nounce,

This tale of the bacon's a damnable bounce; Well, suppose 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.1 1 Lord Clare's Nephew.

VARIATIONS.

a The white was so white, and the red was so ruddy!

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.

с

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;

An underbred, fine spoken fellow was he,
And he smil'd as he look'd at the venison and me.

VARIATIONS.

b There's Coley, and Williams, and Howard, and Hiffc that

d

It would look like a flirt,

Like sending 'em ruffles

e 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,

I'll take no denial-you shall, and you must.

No words, my dear Goldsmith! my very good friend! h seizing

2

And nobody with me at sea but myself;'
Tho' I could not help thinking my gentleman hasty,
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 dumb, [come;

With tidings that Johnson and Burke '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-he owns to Panurge.' While thus he describ'd them by trade and by name, They enter'd, and dinner was serv'd as they came.

2 See the letters that passed between his royal highness Henry Duke of Cumberland, and Lady Grosvenor—12mo, 1769.

could

VARIATIONS.

at the house,

But, I warrant for me, we shall make up the party.
Who dabble and write in the papers-like you.