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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, 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),

See the letters that passed between his Royal Highness Henry Duke of Cumberland, and Lady Grosvenor ; 12mo., 1769.

My friend bade me welcome, but struck me

quite dumb, 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'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 Pan

urge.' 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 fried liver and bacon were seen; At the bottom was tripe, in a swingeing tureen; At the sides there was spinach 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, though 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 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; Tho' 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 echoed about. While thus we resolvid, 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 mis

take her?) That she came with some terrible news from the

baker: 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 mis-

placid, 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.

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