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At the fides there was fpinnage and pudding made

hot;

In the middle a place where the pafty-was not. Now, my lord, as for tripe it's my utter averfion, And your bacon I hate like a Turk or a Perfian, So there I fat ftuck, like a horfe 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 fpeeches, his fmiles and his brogue,

And, madam,' quoth he, "may this bit be my poifon,
A prettier dinner I never fet eyes on ;

Pray a flice of your liver, though may I be curft,
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 feven days in a week:
I like these here dinners fo pretty and fmall;
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 fomething that's nice:
There's a pafty"-" a pafty !" 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 ftill keep a corner for that."

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We'll all keep a corner, the lady cried out ;"

"We'll all keep a corner was echo'd about."
While thus we refolv'd, and the pafty delay'd,
With looks that quite petrified, enter'd the maid;
A vilage

G 4

38

HAUNCH OF VENISON.

A visage so fad, 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 fome terrible news from the baker:
And fo it fell out, for that negligent floven,
Had fhut out the pafty on fhutting his oven.
Sad Philomel thus-but let fimilies drop-
And now that I think on't, the story may stop.
To be plain, my good lord, it's but labour mifplac'd,
To fend fuch good verses to one of your taste;
You've got an odd fomething-a kind of difcerning-
A relish-a tafte-ficken'd over by learning;
At least, it's your temper, as very well known,
That you think very flightly of all that's your own:
So, perhaps, in your habits of thinking amifs,
You may make a mistake, and think slightly of this.

FROM

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THE

HE wretch condemn'd with life to part,

Still, ftill on hope relies ;

And ev'ry pang that rends the heart,

Bids expectation rife.

Hope, like the glimm'ring taper's light,

Adorns and cheers the

way;

And ftill, as darker grows the night,

Emits a brighter ray.

SONG.

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MEMORY! thou fond deceiver,

Still importunate and vain, To former joys, recurring ever,

And turning all the past to pain;

Thou, like the world, the oppreft oppreffing,
Thy fmiles increase the wretch's woe?
And he who wants each other bleffing,
In thee muft ever find a foe.

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THE

THE

CLOWN'S

REPLY.

JOHN TROTT was defired by two witty peers,

To tell him the reason why affes had ears ?. "An't please you," quoth John, "I'm not given "to letters,

"Nor dare I pretend to know more than my betters, "Howe'er from this time I fhall ne'er fee your graces, As I hope to be fav'd! without thinking on affes.”

46

Edinburgh, 1753.

EPI

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