"Each hour a mercenary crowd
"With richest proffers strove:
"Among the rest young Edwin bow'd,
"But never talk'd of love.

"In humble, simplest habit clad,
"No wealth or power had he:
"Wisdom and worth were all he had,
"But these were all to me.

"The blossom op'ning to the day,
"The dews of heav'n refin❜d,
"Could nought of purity display
"To emulate his mind.

"The dew, the blossoms of the tree,
"With charms inconstant shine;
"Their charms were his, but, woe to me!
"Their constancy was mine.

"For still I try'd each fickle art, "Importunate and vain;

"And while his passion touch'd my heart, "I triumph'd in his pain:

"Till, quite dejected with my scorn,

"He left me to my pride;

"And sought a solitude forlorn,

"In secret where he dy❜d.

"But mine the sorrow, mine the fault, "And well life shall pay;

my

"I'll seek the solitude he sought, "And stretch me where he lay.

"And there forlorn, despairing, hid,
"I'll lay me down and die:
" 'Twas so for me that Edwin did,
"And so for him will I."

"Forbid it, Heaven!" the Hermit cry'd, And clasp'd her to his breast:

The wond'ring Fair one turn'd to chide: 'Twas Edwin's self that prest.

"Turn, Angelina, ever dear,

66

My charmer, turn to see

"Thy own, thy long-lost Edwin here, "Restor❜d to love and thee!

"Thus let me hold thee to my heart, "And ev'ry care resign!

"And shall we never, never part,

My life my all that's mine!"

"No, never, from this hour to part; "We'll live and love so true,

"The sigh that rends thy constant heart "Shall break thy Edwin's too."

140

THE

HAUNCH OF VENISON;

A POETICAL EPISTLE

то

LORD CLARE.

THANKS, my lord, for your ven'son, for finer or

fatter

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. 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,
As in some Irish houses, where things are so so,
One gammon of bacon hangs up for a show;
But for eating a rasher 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 pro-

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.

Το 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 liked 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

alone

Oh! let him

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 center'd,

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!" 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 : "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 ven'son 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 ven'son 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," Tho' I could not help thinking my gentleman hasty, Yet Johnson, and Burke, and a good ven'son pasty, Were things that I never dislik'd in my life, Though clogg'd with a coxcomb, and Kitty his wife. So next day, in due splendour to make my approach, I drove 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 cry'd: " both eternally fail"The one with his speeches, and t'other with Thrale: