THE HAUNCH OF VENISON. THANKS, my Lord, for your ven'son, 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; Though my stomach was sharp, I could scarce help regretting To spoil such a delicate picture by eating: I had thoughts, in my chambers to place it in view, To be shown to my friends as a piece of virtu; But hold....let me pause....don't I hear you pronounce, Well, suppose it a bounce....sure a poet may try, But, my Lord, it's no bounce: I protest in my turn, 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. * Lord Clare's nephew. 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, 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?" cry'd 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," cry'd 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; My acquaintance is slight, or I'd ask my lord Clare. N And now, that I think on't, as I am a sinner! Left alone to reflect, having empty'd my shelf, When come to the place where we all were to dine (A chair-lumber'd closset, just twelve feet by nine), * See the letters that passed between his royal highness Henry duke of Cumberland and lady Grosvenor, 12mo, 1769. |