As in fome Irish houfes, where things are fo fo, But, my lord, it's no bounce: I proteft in my turn, There's H-d, and C-y, and H-rth, and H-ff, An acquaintance, a friend as he call'd himself, enter'd; * Lord Clare's Nephew. I Why whofe fhould it be? cried I, with a founc. If that be the cafe 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 infift on't-- precifely at three: We'll have Johnfon, and Burke, all the wits will be there, My acquaintance is flight, or I'd afk my lord Clare. And, now that I think on't, as I am a finner ! We wanted this venifon to make out the dinner. What fay you-a pafty, it shall, and it must, And my wife, little Kitty, is famous for crust. Here, porter-this venifon with me to Mile-end; No tirring I beg-my dear friend-my dear friend! Thus fnatching his hat, he brush'd off like the wind, And the porter and eatables follow'd behind. Left alone to reflect, having emptied my fhelf, And nobody with me at fea but myself ;" * Tho' I could not help thinking my gentleman hafty, Yet Johnfon, and Burke, and a good venifon afty, Were things that I never difliked in my life, Tho' clogg'd with a coxcomb, and Kitty his wife. So next day in due fplendor 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 juft twelve feet by nine :) My friend bade me welcome, but ftruck me quite dumb, With tidings that Johnfcn, and Burke would not come, * See the letters that paffed between his royal highnefs Henry duke of Cumberland, and lady Gröfvenor 1769. For I knew it, he cried, both eternally fail, At the top a fried liver, and bacon were seen, At the bottom was tripe in a fwinging tureen; At the fides there was fpinnage and pudding made hot; In the middle a place where the pafty-was not. Now, my lord, as for tripe it's my utter averfion, And your bacon I hate like a Turk or a Perfian; So there I fat fluck, like a horfe in a pound, While the bacon and liver went merrily round: But what vex'd me moft, was that d-d Scottish rogue, With his long-winded fpeeches, his fmiles and his brogue, And, madam, quoth he, may this bit be my poifon, A prettier dinner I never fet eyes on ; Pray a flice of your liver, tho' may I be curft, While thus we refolv'd, and the paf y delay'd, With looks that quite petrified, enter'd the maid; A vifage fo fad, and fo pale with affright, Wak'd Priam in drawing his curtain by night. But we quickly found out, for who could miftake her, That he came with fome terrible news from the baker: And fo it fell cut, for that negligent floven, Had fut out the pafty in fhutting the oven. Sad Fhilomel thus-but let fimilies dropAnd now that I think on't, the story may ftop. To be plain, my good lord, it's but labour mifplac'd, To fend fu ch good verfes to one of your tafte; You've got an odd fomething-a kind of difcerning A relifha tafte-ficken'd over by learning; At least, its your temper as very well known, That you think very flightly of all that's your own : So, perhaps, in your habits of thinking amifs, You may make a mistake, and think slightly of this. |