THE HAUNCH OF VENISON. THANKS, my lord, for your ven'son, for finer or fatter Never rang'd in a forest, or smok'd in a platter; To spoil such a delicate picture by eating: I had thoughts, in my chambers to place it in view, 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*. 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, Το 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, * Lord Clare's nephew. While thus I debated, in reverie center'd, An acquaintance, a friend as he call'd himself, enter'd; An under-bred, fine-spoken fellow was he, And he smil'd as he look'd at the ven'son 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?" cry'd 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," cry'd he, very gay, "I'm glad I have taken this house in my way. dinner with me; To-morrow take you a poor 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 ven'son to make out a dinner. What say you ?—a pasty, it shall, and it must; Here, porter-this ven'son with me to Mile-End; Left alone to reflect, having empty'd my shelf, 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, 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; See the letters that passed between his royal highness Henry duke of Cumberland and lady Grosvenor, 12mo, 1769. 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 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 serv'd 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 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 vext 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; |