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 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 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;
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 centred,

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 you got here ?-Why this is good eating!

Your own I suppose--or is it in waiting?"

* Lord Clare's nephew.

'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 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 ;
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;"* [hasty, Though I could not help thinking my gentleman 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.

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

So next day, in due splendour to make my approach, I drove up 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.
The one is a Scotchman, the other a Jew,
They're 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 serv'd as they came,
At the top a fried liver and bacon were seen,
At the bottom was tripe, in a swinging tureen;
At the sides there were spinach 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,

And, "madam," quoth he, may this bit be my poison,

A prettier dinner I never set eyes on;

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,

"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." [trice, "O-ho!" quoth my friend, "he'll come on in a 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 too."— "What the de'il, mon, a pasty !" re-echo'd the Scot; "Though splitting, I'll still keep a corner for that."

"We'll all keep a corner," the lady cried out; "We'll all keep a corner," was echo'd about. While thus we resolv'd 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. 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,
To send such good verses to one of your taste :
You've got an odd something-a kind of discerning;
A relish a taste- sicken'd over by learning;
At least it's your temper, as 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.