"For I knew it," he cried, " both eternally fail, 6 (1) At the top a fried liver and bacon were seen, At the bottom was tripe, in a swingeing tureen; At the sides there was spinnage, and pudding made hot; In the middle, a place where the Pasty-was not. (2) 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 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! -'d Scottish rogue, Pray a slice of your liver, though may I be curst, (1) ["Who dabble and write in the papers like you."-First edit.] 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 cry'd 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 ?— (1) [Lord Clare was a man of parts, a poet, and a facetious companion. Almon observes, that his poems breathe the true Horation fire, but are more than half unknown. A volume of them was published anonymously by Dodsley in 1739, entitled “ Odes and Epistles.” Several other poems of his Lordship are printed in Dodsley's Collection, and in the New Foundling Hospital for Wit. His only daughter married the first Marquis of Buckingham, on whose second son the title of Baron Nugent devolved. He died in 1788.-See Nichols, Lit. Anec., vol. viii. p. 2, and Croker's Boswell, vol. ii. p. 123.] |