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THE HAUNCH OF VENISON.
THANKS, my Lord, for your ven’son, for finer or
Never rang'd in a forest, or smok'd in a platter;
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 virtu; 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 fry'd in.
But hold....let me pause....don't I hear you pronounce,
This tale of the bacon's a damnable bounce?
Well, suppose it a bounce....sure a poet may try,
But, my Lord, it's no bounce: I protest in my turn,
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
There's H....d, and C....y, and H....rth, and H....ff,
I think they love ven’son.... I know they love beef. There's my countryman Higgins....Oh! let him alone, For making a blunder or picking a bone.
* Lord Clare's nephew.
But hang it...eto poets who seldom can eat,
suppoşe....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. 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.
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;
Left alone to reflect, having empty'd my shelf,
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 closset, just twelve feet by nine),
* See the letters that passed between his royal highness Henry duke of Cumberland and lady Grosvenor, 12mo, 1769.