Of the neck and the breast I had next to dispose; With the how, and the who, and the where, and the when 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. An acquaintance, a friend as he call'd himself, enter'd: 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, "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; We wanted this Ven'son to make out a dinner. - 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, When come to the place where we all were to dine, They both of them merry, and authors like you: While thus he decrib'd them by trade and by name, At the top a fried liver and bacon were seen, But what vex'd me most was that d-'d Scottish rogue, Pray a slice of your liver, though may I be curst, "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 ་ “0 your friend there, the Doctor, eats nothing at all." - 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 to." "What the De'il, mon, a Pasty!" re-echo'd the Scot, "We'll all keep a corner," the lady cry'd out; Wak'd 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 misplac'd, You've got an odd something - a kind of discerning SCENE. THE CAPTIVITY; AN ORATORIO. THE PERSONS. FIRST JEWISH PROPHET. FIRST CHALDEAN PRIEst. SECOND CHALDEAN PRIEST. CHALDEAN WOMAN. CHORUS OF YOUTHS AND VIRGINS. The Banks of the River Euphrates, near Babylon. ISRAELITES sitting on the Banks of the Euphrates. Recitative. YE captive tribes, that hourly work and weep, First PROPHET. Air. Our God is all we boast below, And though no temple richly drest, We'll make his temple in our breast, And offer up a tear. [The first stanza repeated by the CHORUS. Second PROPHET. Recitative. That strain once more: it bids remembrance rise, These hills how sweet! those plains how wond'rous fair! Air. O Memory, thou fond deceiver! To former joys recurring ever, And turning all the past to pain; Hence, intruder, most distressing, Seek the happy and the free; The wretch who wants each other blessing, First PROPHET. Recitative. Yet, why complain? What, though by bonds confin'd, |