Hither the affected city dame advancing, *This Epilogue was given in MS. by Dr. Goldsmith to Dr. Percy, (now Bishop of Dromore ;) but for what comedy it was intended is not remembered... THE HAUNCH OF VENISON, A POETICAL EPISTLE, TO LORD CLARE. FIRST PRINTED IN 1765. THANKS my lord, for your venison, for finer or fatter Never ranged in a forest, or smoked in a platter; The haunch was a picture for painters to study, 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, But my lord, it's no bounce; I protest in my turn, It's a truth-and your lordship may ask Mr. Burn.* To go on with my tale-as I gazed on the haunch, I thought of a friend that was trusty and stanch, * Lord Clare's nephew. So I cut it, and sent it to Reynolds undrest, "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 pleased 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 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. And, now that I think on't, as I am a sinner! Left alone to reflect, having emptied my shelf, When come to the place where we all were to dine, (A chair-lumbered closet just twelve feet by nine :) My friend bade we welcome, but struck me quite dumb, [come; With tidings that Johnson and Burke would not "For I knew it," he cried, "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're both of them merry, and authors like you; The one writes the Snarler, the other the Scourge; Some thinks he writes Cinna--he owns to Panurge." * See the letters that passed between his royal highness Henry, duke of Cumberland, and lady Grosvenor-12mo. 1769. While thus he described them by trade and by name, They entered, and dinner was served as they came. At the top a fried liver and bacon were seen, At the bottom was tripe, in a swinging tureen; [hot; At the sides there was spinnage and pudding made 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 vexed me most was that d―ed Scottish rogue, [brogue; With his long-winded speeches, his smiles and his And, "madam," quoth he, may this bit be my A prettier dinner I never set eyes on: [poison, 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 all." "O--ho!" 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 dont care if I keep a corner for❜t too," "What the de'il, mon, a pasty!" re-echoed the Scot, "Though splitting, I'll still keep a corner for that." "We'll all keep a corner," the lady cried out; "We'll all keep a corner," was echoed about. While thus we resolved, and the pasty delayed, With looks that quite petrified, entered the maid; |