페이지 이미지
PDF
ePub

take a poor

dinner with me;

To-morrow you

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!
We wanted this venison 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; »1

1

Though I could not help thinking my gentleman hasty,
Yet Johnson and Burke, and a good venison pasty,
Were things that I never disliked 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 all were 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;
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:

See the letters that passed between his Royal Highness Henry Duke of Cumberland, and Lady Grosvenor.-12mo. 1769.

The one writes the Snarler, the other the Scourge;
Some think he writes Cinna-he owns to Panurge. >>
While thus he described them by trade and by name,
They enter'd, 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;
At the sides there was spinage, 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 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 don't 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. >>

t

<< 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 delay'd,
With looks that quite petrified, enter'd the maid:

A visage so sad, and so pale with affright,

Waked 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 baker:

And so it fell out, for that negligent sloven
Had shut out the pasty on shutting his oven.
Sad Philomel thus-but let similes drop-
And now that I think on 't, the story may stop.
To be plain, my good lord, it's but labour misplaced
To send such good verses to one of your taste;
You've got an odd something-a kind of discerning,
A 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 think slightly of this.

FROM

THE ORATORIO

OF

THE CAPTIVITY.

SONG.

THE wretch condemn'd with life to part,
Still, still on hope relies ;

And every pang that rends the heart,

Bids expectation rise.

Hope, like the glimmering taper's light,

Adorns and cheers the way;

And still, as darker grows the night,
Emits a brighter ray.

SONG.

O MEMORY! thou fond deceiver,
Still importunate and vain,
To former joys recurring ever,

And turning all the past to pain:

Thou, like the world, th' opprest oppressing,

Thy smiles increase the wretch's woe;

And he who wants each other blessing,
In thee must ever find a foe.

THE

CLOWN'S REPLY.

JOHN TROTT was desired by two witty peers,
To tell them the reason why asses had ears;

<< An't please you,» quoth John, « I'm not given to letters,
Nor dare I pretend to know more than my betters;
Howe'er from this time I shall ne'er see your graces,
As I hope to be saved! without thinking on asses.»

Edinburgh, 1753.

EPITAPH

ON

EDWARD PURDON.'

HERE lies poor NED PURDON, from misery freed,
Who long was a bookseller's hack;

He led such a damnable life in this world,

I don't think he'll wish to come back.

'This gentleman was educated at Trinity College, Dublin; but having wasted his patrimony, he enlisted as a foot-soldier. Growing tired of that employment, he obtained his discharge, and became a scribbler in the newspapers. He translated Voltaire's HENRIADE.

« 이전계속 »