As in fome Irish houses, where things are fo fo, But, my lord, it's no bounce: I proteft in my turn, It's a truth-and your lordship may ask Mr. Burn. * To go on with my tale-as I gaz'd on the haunch; I thought of a friend that was trufty and ftaunch, So I cut it, and fent it to Reynold's undreft, To paint it, or eat it, juft as he lik'd best. Of the neck and the breaft I had next to difpofe ; 'Twas a neck and a breaft that might rival Monro'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, An acquaintance, a friend as he call'd himself, enter'd; And he finil'd as he look'd at the venifon and me. What have we got here?-Why this is good eating! Your own I fuppofe or is it in waiting eating! *Lord Clare's Nephew. Why whose should it be? cried I, with a flounce, If that be the cafe 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 infift on't- precifely at three: We'll have Johnson, and Burke, all the wits will be there, My acquaintance is flight, or I'd afk my lord Clare. And, now that I think on't, as I am a finner! We wanted this venifun to make out the dinner. What fay you-a pafty, it shall, and it muft, And my wife, little Kitty, is famous for cruft. Here, porter-this venifon with me to Mile-end ; No ftirring I beg-my dear friend-my dear friend! Thus fnatching his hat, he brufh'd off like the wind, And the porter and eatables follow'd behind. Left alone to reflect, having emptied my fhelf, And nobody with me at fea but myself ;" * Tho' I could not help thinking my gentleman hafty, Yet Johnson, and Burke, and a good venifon pafty, Were things that I never disliked in my life, Tho' clogg'd with a coxcomb, and Kitty his wife. So next day in due fplendor 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 juft twelve feet by nine :) My friend bade me welcome, but ftruck me quite dumb, With tidings that Johnfon, and Burke would not come, * See the letters that paffed between his royal highnefs Henry duke of Cumberland, and lady Grosvenor1769. S For I knew it, he cried, both eternally fail, The one with his speeches, and t'other with Thrale ; At the top a fried liver, and bacon were seen, At the bottom was tripe in a fwinging tureen; At the fides there was fpinnage and pudding made hot; In the middle a place where the pasty-was not. Now, my lord, as for tripe it's my utter averfion, And your bacon I hate like a Turk or a Perfian; So there I fat ftuck, like a horse in a pound, While the bacon and liver went merrily round: But what vex'd me moft, was that d-'d Scottish rogue, With his long-winded fpeeches, his fmiles and his brogue, And, madam, quoth he, may this bit be my poifon, Pray a flice of your liver, tho' may I be curft, While thus we refolv'd, and the pafly delay'd, S 2 |