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[9]-- But in parting with these I was puzzled again, With the how, and the who, and the where, and the when: There’s Coley,[10] and Williams, and H----rth, and Hiff-- I think they love ven’son--I know they love beef; There’s my countryman, Higgins--Oh! let him alone 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 centred, 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 venison 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, sir?” 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 venison to make out the 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;”[11] Though 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-- 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.