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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! We wanted this ven'son 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, Tho'clogg'd with a coxcomb, and Kitty his wife, So next day in due splendor to make my approach, I drove to his door in my own hackney-coach. When come to the place where we were all to
1 See the letters that passed between his royal highness Henry Duke of Cumberland, and Lady Grosvenor-12', 1760.
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 tother with Thrale. But no matter, I'll warrant we'll make up 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 Panurge.” While us 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 swinging tureen ;
At the sides there were spinnage 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 "Oho!" quoth my friend, “ he'll come on in a
trice, He's keeping a corner for something that's nice: There's a 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-echo'd the Scot; “ Though splitting, I'll still keep a corder for that.” “ We'll all keep a corner,” the lady cried 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 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 mistake
her?) That she came with some terrible news from the
To be plain, my good lord, it's but labour misplac'd, To send such good verses to one of your taste : You've got an odd something-a kind of discern
ingA 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 thinķ slightly of this,