4

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 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 venison pasty,
Were things that I never dislik'd in my life,
Tho' clog'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 all were 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 cried, both eternally fail,

The one with his speeches, and t'other with Thrale;
But no matter, I'll warrant we'll make up the party,
With two full as clever, and ten times as hearty.
The one is a Scotchman, the other a Jew,
They both of them merry, and authors like you;
The one writes the Snarler, the other the Scourge ;
Some think he writes Cinna-he owns to Panurge.'
While thus he describ'd them by trade and by name,
They enter'd, and dinner was serv'd as they came.

At the top a fried liver, and bacon were seen, At the bottom was tripe, in a swinging tureen ; At the sides there was spinage and pudding made hot; In the middle a place where the pasty—was not. 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-'d Scottish

rogue,

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 ;

Pray a slice of your liver, tho' may I be curst,

But I've eat of your tripe, till I'm ready to burst.'

The tripe,' quoth the Jew, with his chocolate cheek, 'I could dine on this tripe seven days in a week: I like these here dinners so pretty and small; But your friend there, the doctor, eats nothing at all.' 'O-ho! quoth my friend, he'll come on in a trice, He's keeping a corner for something that's nice: There's a pasty' A pasty!' repeated the Jew; 'I don't care, if I keep a corner for❜t too.' 'What the de'el, mon, a pasty!' re-echo'd the Scot, Tho' 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?
That she come with some terrible news from the baker:
And so it fell out, for that negligent sloven,

Had shut out the pasty on shutting his oven.
Sad Philomel thus-but let similies drop-
And now that I think on't, the story may stop.

To be plain, my good lord, it's but labour misplac❜d,
To send such good verses to one of your taste;
You've got an odd something-a kind of discerning-
A relish a taste-sicken'd over by learning;
At least, it's your temper, as very well known,
That you think very slightly of all that's your own.
So, perhaps, in your habits of thinking amiss,
You may make a mistake, and think slightly of this.

THE GRAND QUESTION DEBATED,

Whether Hamilton's Bawn should be turned into a Bar rack or a Malthouse?

[SWIFT.]

THUS spoke to my lady the knight, full of care :
'Let me have your advice in a weighty affair.
This Hamilton's Bawn, whilst it sticks on my hand,
I lose by the house what I get by the land;
But how to dispose of it to the best bidder,

For a barrack or malthouse we now must consider.

First, let me suppose I make it a malthouse,

Here I have computed the profit will fall t' us;

There's nine-hundred pounds for labour and grain,
I increase it to twelve, so three hundred remain ;
A handsome addition for wine and good cheer,
Three dishes a day, and three hogsheads a year.
With a dozen large vessels my vault shall be stor❜d,
No little scrub-joint shall come on my board;
And you and the Dean no more shall combine
To stint me at night to one bottle of wine;
Nor shall I, for his humour, permit you to purloin
A stone and a quarter of beef from my sirloin.
If I make it a barrack, the crown is my tenant;
My dear! I have ponder'd again and again on’t;
In poundage and drawbacks I lose half my rent;
Whatever they give me I must be content,
Or join with the court in ev'ry debate,

And rather than that I would lose my estate.'

*

A

Thus ended the knight; thus began his meek wife; It must and it shall be a barrack, my life! I'm grown a mere mopus; no company comes But a rabble of tenants and rusty dull rums.* With parsons what lady can keep herself clean? I'm all over daub'd when I sit by the Dean. But if you will give us a barrack, my dear! The Captain, I'm sure, will always come here:

* A cant word in Ireland for a poor country clergyman.