THE HAUNCH OF VENISON. THANKS, my lord, for your venison, for finer or fatter 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, 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; Your very good mutton's a very good treat; Such dainties to them their health it might hurt, a Lord Clare's nephew. While thus I debated, in reverie centred, 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?" cried 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, cried he, very gay, I'm glad I have taken this house in my way. To-morrow take a poor you 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. And, now that I think on't, as I am a sinner! 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";" Though 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 were all 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 cried, " both eternally fail, The one with his speeches, and t'other with Thrale; b See the letters that passed between his royal highness Henry duke of Cumberland, and lady Grosvenor-12° 1769. |