THE HAUNCH OF VENISON.

A POETICAL EPISTLE

то

LORD CLARE.

1771.

"The Haunch of Venison," written it is believed in 1771, was first published in 1776, two years after Goldsmith's death. It is here printed from the second edition, 1776, containing ten additional lines and numerous emendations, said to be taken from the last transcript of its author.

The Lord Clare to whom this poem is addressed was Robert Nugent of Carlanstown, Westmeath, created, 1766, Viscount Clare, and, in 1776, Earl Nugent. He died at Dublin in 1788, and was buried at Gosfield, in Essex. He was a poet, and a stanza from his Ode to Pulteney has been quoted by Gibbon in his character of Brutus :

"What! tho' the good, the brave, the wise,

With adverse force undaunted rise

To break th' eternal doom;

Though Cato liv'd, tho' Tully spoke,

Though Brutus dealt the god-like stroke,

Yet perished fated Rome."

He was thrice married; was a big, jovial, voluptuous Irishman, with a loud voice, a strong Irish accent, and a ready though coarse wit.

THE HAUNCH OF VENISON.

THANKS, my Lord, for your Venison; for finer or fatter,
Never rang'd in a forest, or smok'd 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,
To be shown to my friends as a piece of virtù;
As in some Irish houses, where things are so-so,
One gammon of bacon hangs up for a show;-
But, for eating a rasher of what they take pride in,
They'd as soon think of eating the pan it is fried in.”
But hold-let me pause-Don't I hear you pronounce,
This tale of the bacon a damnable bounce?

Well! suppose it a bounce-sure a poet may try,
By a bounce now and then, to get courage to fly.
But, my Lord, it's no bounce: I protest in my turn,
It's a truth-and your lordship may ask Mr. Byrne.'

To go on with my tale-as I gaz'd on the Haunch, I thought of a friend that was trusty and staunch,

1 "The white was so white, and the red was so ruddy."-First edition. 2 "There is scarcely a cottage in Germany, Poland, and Switzerland, that is not hung round with these marks of hospitality; and which often makes the owner better contented with hunger, since he has it in his power to be luxurious when he thinks proper. A piece of beef hung up there, is considered as an elegant piece of furniture, which, though seldom touched, at least argues the possessor's opulence and ease."-History of Animated Nature, vol. iii. p. 9. 3 Lord Clare's nephew.

So I cut it, and sent it to Reynolds undrest,

To paint it, or eat it, just as he lik'd best.

Of the neck and the breast I had next to dispose;
'Twas a neck and a breast that might rival Monroe's :'

But in parting with these I was puzzled again,

With the how, and the who, and the where, and the when.
There's Howard,' and Coley, and H—rth, and Hiff,3
I think they love ven'son-I know they love beef.
There's my countryman, Higgins-Oh! let him alone,
For making a blunder, or picking a bone.
But hang it-to poets, who seldom can eat,

Your very good mutton's a very good treat;

Such dainties to them, their health it might hurt;
It's like sending them ruffles, when wanting a shirt.*
While thus I debated, in reverie center'd,

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."

Dorothy Monroe, whose various charms are celebrated in verse by Lord Townshend.

2 "There's Coley, and Williams, and Howard, and Hiff."-First edition.

3 Paul Hiffernan, M.D., an obscure Irish practitioner and author.

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"Such dainties to them! It would look like a flirt,

Like sending 'em ruffles when wanting a shirt."—First edition. "To treat a poor wretch with a bottle of Burgundy, or fill his snuff-box, is like giving a pair of lace ruffles to a man that has never a shirt on his back." -Tom Brown's Laconics. (Works, iv. 14; 4 vols. 8vo. 1709.)

"The king has lately been pleased to make me Professor of Ancient History in a Royal Academy of Painting which he has just established; but there is no salary annexed; and I took it rather as a compliment to the Institution than any benefit to myself. Honours to me in my situation are something like ruffles to one that wants a shirt."-Goldsmith to his brother. (Letters, vol. iv.)

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"A fine-spoken Custom-house officer he,

Who smil'd as he gaz'd on the Venison and me."--First edition.

"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!

We wanted this Venison to make out the 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,"

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 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 both of them merry, and authors like you:

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1 "I'll take no denial-you shall and you must."--First edition.

2 "No words, my dear Goldsmith! my very good friend !"-First edition.

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

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"Who dabble and write in the papers like you."-First edition.