THE HAUNCH OF VENISON;

A POETICAL EPISTLE TO LORD CLARE.

[Written about 1771, but not published until 1776, two years after the poet's death. A second edition also appeared in 1776, having "additions and corrections taken from the author's last transcript.' Our text is mainly that of the second edition; but as some of the "corrected" lines of that edition have been thought to be inferior to the corresponding lines in the first edition, we add the latter as variations.-ED.]

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;1

Though my stomach was sharp, I could scarce help regretting

To spoil such a delicate picture by eating: 2

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. Burn.3

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1 Var. The white was so white, and the red was so ruddy.-First edition.

2 This couplet is one of the additions to the second edition.—ED. 3 Mr. Byrne, Lord Clare's nephew.-ED.

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To go on with my tale: as I gazed on the haunch,
I thought of a friend that was trusty and staunch;
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 M—r—e's : 1
But in parting with these I was puzzled again,
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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—2
I think they love venison-I know they love beef;
There's my countryman, H-gg-ns 3-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,

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An acquaintance-a friend, as he call'd himself—enter'd; An under-bred, fine spoken fellow was he,

And he smiled as he look'd at the venison and me,

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1 The full word "Monroe's" is in the first, and in editions after the second. Dorothy Monroe was a beauty celebrated in Lord Townshend's verse.-ED.

2 The full names, "Coley, and Williams, and Howard, and Hiff," are in the first edition. "Hiff" stands for Paul Hiffernan, M.D., a turbulent Irishman of the Grub Street class of authors. He was associated with Burke in that celebrity's youthful squabbles with the theatrical managers of Dublin; and, later, was a hack writer, and half friend, half pensioner of Goldsmith in London. The others alluded to are now unknown, though probably they were characters of the same genus as "Hiff." Mr. Bolton Corney queries whether Howard is the author of the "Choice Spirits' Museum" (1765), and whether “ H———rth" is Hogarth, the surgeon of Golden Square.-ED.

This couplet first appeared in the second edition. The full name "Higgins" appeared later. It is in the 1777 edition, and Percy also gives it, though without telling us who Higgins was. Mr. B. Corney thinks he may have been Captain Higgins, the officious military "friend" who helped Goldsmith to, rather than in, his quarrel with Evans the bookseller; see our Life' of the poet, p. 33, vol. i.—ED. Var.-Such dainties to them! It would look like a flirt, Like sending 'em ruffles, when wanting a shirt.

First edition.

5 Var.-A fine spoken Custom-house officer he,
Who smil❜d as he gaz'd on the ven❜son and me.

First edition.

"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.” 1

"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:

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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!

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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:

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No stirring, I beg-my dear friend-my dear friend!""

Thus, snatching his hat, he brusht off like the wind,
And the porter and eatables followed 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 disliked in my life, Though clogg'd with a coxcomb, and Kitty his wife.

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So next day, in due splendour, to make my approach, 65 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 ;

This couplet is an addition to the second edition.-ED.

2 Var.-No words, my dear Goldsmith! my very good friend!

First edition.

3 A quotation from some love-letters that passed between his Royal Highness the Duke of Cumberland and Lady Grosvenor (12mo., 1769), of which the newspapers were at the time making fun.-ED.

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"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 :
The one writes the Snarler, the other the Scourge;
Some think he writes Cinna-he owns to Panurge."
While thus he describ'd 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 swingeing tureen ;

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At the sides, there was spinnage, 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, 90
And," Madam," quoth he, " may this bit be my poison,
A prettier dinner I never set eyes on:

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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, 95
"I could dine on this tripe seven days in the 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:

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1 An eminent London brewer, M.P. for the borough of Southwark, at whose table Dr. Johnson was a frequent guest.-B.

2 Var.-Who dabble and write in the papers-like you.

First edition.

3 This couplet is one of the additions to the second edition.-ED. Prior [Life,' v. ii., p. 277] and Forster [v. ii., p. 262], say this Scotchman is "Parson Scott," who was a paid writer in support of the North ministry. He wrote in the Public Advertiser with the signatures Panurge and Anti-Sejanus; and it was he who unsuccessfully offered pay to Goldsmith to induce him to write for the North faction.-ED.

There's a pasty."-"A pasty!" repeated the Jew,
"I don't care if I keep a corner for 't too."
"What the deil mon, a pasty!" re-echo'd the Scot,
"Though splitting, I'll still keep a corner for thot." I
"We'll all keep a corner," the lady cried out;
"We'll all keep a corner," was echo'd 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,
Wak'd Priam, in drawing his curtains by night.

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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.2

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To be plain, my good Lord, it's but labour misplac'd, To send such good verses to one of your taste: You've got an odd something-a kind of discerningA relish- a taste-sicken'd over by learning; At least it's your temper, 'tis 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."

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1 The second edition has "that;" but we think "thot," as in the first edition, preferable. The four lines here ending are an amplification of two in the first edition.-ED.

2 The description of the dinner party in this poem is imitated from one of Boileau's satires. Boileau himself took the hint from Horace, Lib. ii. Sat. 8, which has also been imitated by Regnier, Sat. 10.-B. 3 From the first edition. The second has "as."-ED.

Robert Nugent, created Viscount Clare in 1766, was a man of parts and also a merry companion. He published poems anonymously, through Dodsley. He and Goldsmith seem to have been fast friends: see 'Life,' p. 24, &c., v. i.-ED.