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Of the neck and the breast I had next to dispose ,
Vhy, whose should it be?” cried I, with a flounce,
“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,
When come to the place where we all were to dine,
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 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, 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, “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, cats nothing at all.” “O - ho!” quoth my friend, “he 'll come on in a trice, He 's keeping a corner for something that 's pice; There's a Pasty” “a Pasty!” repeated the Jew, “I don't care if I keep a corner for't to." “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? That she came 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 similes 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
sick’ned 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 Banks of the River Euphrates, near Babylon.
ISRAELITES sitting on the Banks of the Euphrates.
To him we turn our eyes;
Nor sacrifice is here;
[The first stanza repeated by the Chorus.
Still importunate and vain;
And turning all the past to pain;
Seek the happy and the free;