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HAUNCH OF VENISON.
Epistle to Lord Clare.
FIRST PRINTED IN THE YEAR 1765.
THANKS, my lord, for your venison, for finer or fatter
But hold-let me pause don't I hear you pronounce,
This tale of the bacon's a damnable bounce;
Well, suppose it a bounce—sure a poet may try,
But, my lord, it's no bounce: I protest in my turn,
when, There's H—-d, and C-y, and H-rth, and H-ff, I think they love venison—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;
* Lord Clare's nephew.
Such dainties to them, their health it might hurt,
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 pleased to be kind—but I hate ostentation.”
“ If that be the case then,” cried he, very gay, “ I'm glad to 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: (there; We'll have Johnson, and Burke; all the wits will be 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;
Left alone to reflect, having emptied my shelf,
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 the' 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.
* See the letters that passed between his Royal Highness Henry Duke of Cumberland, and Lady Grosvenor.