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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 feldom can eat, Your very good mutton's a very good treat; Such dainties to them, their health it might hurtIt's like sending them ruffles, when wanting a shirt. 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 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?"--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 oftentation." “ If that be the case then,” cry'd 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 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 a dinner. “ What say you-a pafty-it shall, and it must; “ And my wife, little Kitty, is famous for cruft. “ Here, porter, this venison with me to Mile-end; “No ftirring, I beg-my dear friend-my dear friend!" Thus snatching his hat, he brush'd off like the wind, Aąd 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, Tho'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 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; “ 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 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 spinnage and pudding made hot; In the middle a place where the pafty-was not. Now, my lord, as for tripe, it's my utter aversion, And your bacon I hate like a Turk or a Persian;
* See the letters that passed between his Royal Highness Henry Duke of Cumberland and Lady Grosvenorcm-1769.
So there I sat stuck, like a horse in a pound,
Pray a slice of your liver, though may I be curft, “ 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 feven days in a week: • I like these here dinners, so pretty and small; “ But your friend there the doctoreats nothing at all." “0-ho!" quoth my friend, “he'll come on in a trice, " He's keeping a corner for something that's nice: “There's a patty"-"A pafty!” repeated the Jew; “ I don't care if I keep a corner for't too.”, “ What the de'il, mon, a pasty!” re-echo'd the Scot; 6. Though splitting, I'll still keep a corner for that.” “ We'll all keep a corner,” the lady cry'd 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 petrify'd, 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 herThat she came with some terrible news from the baker; And so it fell out, for that negligent Noven Had shut out the pasty on shutting his oven! Sad Philomel thus—but let fimilies dropAnd, now that I think on't, the fory may flop. To be plain, iny good lord, it's but labour misplac'd, To send such good verses to one of your
You've got an odd something a kind of discerning
you think very slightly of all that's your own: So, perhaps, in your habits of thinking amifs, You
may make a mistake, and think Nightly of this.
OF AN AUTHOR'S BED-CHAMBER.
Where the Red-Lion staring o'er the way,
THE DOUBLE TRANSFORMATION.
SECLUDED from domeftic strife,
Such pleasures, unalloy'd with care,
Need we expose to vulgar fight