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EPILOGUE TO THE SISTERS.
Miss, not yet full fifteen, with fire uncommon,
HANKS, my lord, for your venison, for finer or fatter
my stomach was sharp, I could scarce help
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 try'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-fure a poet may try, 15 By a bounce now and then, to get courage to fly.
But, my lord, 'tis 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 truliy and staunch; So I cut it, and sent it to Reynolds undrest, To paint it, or eat it, just as he lik'd beft. Of the neck and the breast I had next to dispose ; 'Tw
'was a neck and a breast that might rival Monroe's : But in parting with these I was puzzled again, 25 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 venison I know they love beef. There's my countryman Higgins-Oh! let him alone, For making a blunder, or picking a bone.
30 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 fending them ruffles, when wanting a fhirt. While thus I debated, in reverie center'd,
35 An acquaintance, a friend, as he call'd himself, enter'd; An under-bred, fine-spoken fellow was he, And he smild as he look'd at the venison and me. What have we got here? why this is good eating! Your own I suppose or is it in waiting ?
40 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 oftentation.
If that be the case then, cried he very gay, 45 I'm glad I've taken this house in my way.
* Lord Clare's nephew.
Tomorrow you take a poor dinner with me ;
Left alone to reflect, having emptied my fhelf,
When come to the place where we all were to dine,
party, With two full as clever, and ten times as hearty.
See the letters that passed between his royal highness Henry duke of Cuinberland, and lady Grosvenor--12mu. 1769.
The one is a Scotchman, the other a Jew,
75 They both of them nierry, and authors like you ; The one writes the Snarler, the other the Scourge ; Some thinks 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. 80
At the top a fried liver, and bacon were seen, At the bottom was tripe, in a swinging tureen ; At the sides there was spinnage and pudding made hot; In the middle a place where the pastyNow, my lord, as for tripe it's my utter aversion,
85 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, though 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, 95 I could dine on this tripe seven days in the week: I like these here-dinners so pretty and finall; But
your friend there, the doctor, eats nothing at all. O-oh! quoth my friend, he'll come in on a trice, He's keeping a corner for foniething that's nice: There's a pasty-mona party ! 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 till keep a corner for that. We'll all keep a corner, the lady cried out; 105 We'll all keep a corner was echo'd about.