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Farewell ; and O! where'er thy voice be tried,
HAUNCH OF VENISON.
THANKS, my lord, for your venison, for finer or
Never rang'd in a forest, or smok'd in a platter;
nounce, This tale of the bacon's 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. 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,
ter'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? cried I with a flounce: • I get these things often-but that was a bounce: "Some lords, my acquaintance, that settle the pation, 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 : 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, 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