THE

HAUNCH OF VENISON.

An epistle to Lord Clare.

FIRST PRINTED IN 1765.

THANKS, my lord, for your venison, for finer or fatter
Ne'er 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 re-
To spoil such a delicate picture by eating: [gretting
I had thoughts, in my chamber, to place it in view,
To be shown to my friends as a piece of virtu:
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's 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. Burn.* To go on with my tale—as I gaz❜d on the haunch, I thought of a friend that was trusty and staunch : So I cut it, and sent it to Reynold's 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 H-d, and C—y, and H-rth, and H—ff,
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;

* Lord Clare's nephew.

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 ven'son 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."

"If that be the case then," cried he, very gay, "I'm glad I have taken this house in my way. To-morrow you dinner with me;

take a poor

No words-I insist on't-precisely at three: [there;
We'll have Johnson, and Burk; 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 ;
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 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 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.

See the letters that passed between his Royal Highness Henry Duke of Cumberland, and lady Grosvenor.