« VorigeDoorgaan »
YeKenricks(a),yeKellys(b), andWoodfalls(c) fo grave,
Here Hickey(d) reclines,amoft blunt pleasant creature,
worst foe can't accuse him of that:
Here Reynolds(e) is laid, and, to tell you my mind,
(a) Vide page 66.
(e) Vide page 64.
To coxcombs averse, yet most civilly steering, Whentheyjudg'd withoutskill,hewas still hard of hearing; When they talk'd of theirRaphaels, Corregios and stuff, He shifted his trumpet(f), and only took snuff.
What pity, alas! that fo liberal a mind
Ye newspaper witlings! ye pert scribbling folks!
(f) Sir Joshua Reynolds was so remarkably deaf as to be under the necessity of using an ear-trumpet in company.
(g) Mr. W. was so notorious a punster, that Dr. Gold. smith used to say it was impossible to keep him company without being infected with an itch for punning.
(h) Mr. H. S. Woodfall, printer of the Public Advertiser.
To deck it, bring with you festoons of the vine,
Merry Whitefoord, farewell!—for thy fake I admit
(i) Mr. Whitefoord has frequently indulged the town with humorous pieces under those titles in the Public Advertiser
Avidst the clamour of exulting joys,
Which triumph forces from the patriot heart, Grief dares to mingle her soul-piercing voice,
And quells the raptures which from pleasure start. 0, Wolfe! to thee a streaming flood of woe,
Sighing, we pay, and think even conquest dearQuebec in vain Mall teach the breast to glow,
Whilst thy sad fate extorts the heart-wrung tear. Alive, the foe thy dreadful vigour fled,
And saw thee fall with joy-pronouncing eyes; Yet they Mall know thou conquerest, though dead!
Since from thy tomb a thousand heroes rise.
THE HAUNCH OF VENISON.
A POETICAL EPISTLE-TO LORD CLARE.
Thanks,my Lord, for your venison--for finerorfatter Never rang'd in a forest, or smoak’d in a platter : The haunch was a picture for painters to study, The fat was so white, and the lean was so ruddy ; Tho’my stomach was sharp, Icould scarce helpregretting To spoil such a delicate picture by eating: I had thoughts, in my chambers, to place it in view, To be Thewn to my friends as a piece of virtuAs in some Irish houses, where things are so so, One gammon of bacon hangs up for a show; But, for eating a ralher of what they take pride in, They'd as soon think of eating the pan it is fry'd in. But hold—let me pause-don't I hear you pronounce 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, 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;
* Lord Clase's nephew.
But in parting with these, I was puzzled again,
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 Jolinfon,and Burke,allthe 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 cruit. “ Here, porter, this venison with me to Mile-end; * No stirring, I beg--my dear friend-my dear friend!"