The Haunch Of Venison - A Poetical Epistle To Lord Clare Poem Rhyme Scheme

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Thanks my Lord for your venison for finer or fatter	A
Never rang'd in a forest or smok'd in a platter	A
The haunch was a picture for painters to study	B
The fat was so white and the lean was so ruddy	B
Though my stomach was sharp I could scarce help regretting	C
To spoil such a delicate picture by eating	C
I had thoughts in my chambers to place it in view	D
To be shown to my friends as a piece of 'virtu'	B
As in some Irish houses where things are so so	E
One gammon of bacon hangs up for a show	E
But for eating a rasher of what they take pride in	F
They'd as soon think of eating the pan it is fried in	F
But hold let me pause Don't I hear you pronounce	G
This tale of the bacon a damnable bounce	G
Well suppose it a bounce sure a poet may try	H
By a bounce now and then to get courage to fly	H
	-
But my Lord it's no bounce I protest in my turn	I
It's a truth and your Lordship may ask Mr Byrne	I
To go on with my tale as I gaz'd on the haunch	E
I thought of a friend that was trusty and staunch	E
So I cut it and sent it to Reynolds undress'd	B
To paint it or eat it just as he lik'd best	B
Of the neck and the breast I had next to dispose	J
'Twas a neck and a breast that might rival M r 's	K
But in parting with these I was puzzled again	L
With the how and the who and the where and the when	L
There's H d and C y and H rth and H ff	D
I think they love venison I know they love beef	D
There's my countryman H gg ns Oh let him alone	M
For making a blunder or picking a bone	M
But hang it to poets who seldom can eat	B
Your very good mutton's a very good treat	B
Such dainties to them their health it might hurt	B
It's like sending them ruffles when wanting a shirt	B
While thus I debated in reverie centred	B
An acquaintance a friend as he call'd himself enter'd	B
An under bred fine spoken fellow was he	B
And he smil'd as he look'd at the venison and me	B
'What have we got here Why this is good eating	C
Your own I suppose or is it in waiting '	-
'Why whose should it be ' cried I with a flounce	G
'I get these things often ' but that was a bounce	G
'Some lords my acquaintance that settle the nation	N
Are pleas'd to be kind but I hate ostentation '	-
	-
'If that be the case then ' cried he very gay	O
'I'm glad I have taken this house in my way	O
To morrow you take a poor dinner with me	B
No words I insist on't precisely at three	B
We'll have Johnson and Burke all the wits will be there	P
My acquaintance is slight or I'd ask my Lord Clare	P
And now that I think on't as I am a sinner	A
We wanted this venison to make out the dinner	A
What say you a pasty it shall and it must	B
And my wife little Kitty is famous for crust	B
Here porter this venison with me to Mile end	B
No stirring I beg my dear friend my dear friend	B
Thus snatching his hat he brush'd off like the wind	B
And the porter and eatables follow'd behind	B
	-
Left alone to reflect having emptied my shelf	D
'And nobody with me at sea but myself'	D
Though I could not help thinking my gentleman hasty	B
Yet Johnson and Burke and a good venison pasty	B
Were things that I never dislik'd in my life	D
Though clogg'd with a coxcomb and Kitty his wife	D
So next day in due splendour to make my approach	E
I drove to his door in my own hackney coach	E
	-
When come to the place where we all were to dine	Q
A chair lumber'd closet just twelve feet by nine	Q
My friend bade me welcome but struck me quite dumb	R
With tidings that Johnson and Burke would not come	R
'For I knew it ' he cried 'both eternally fail	S
The one with his speeches and t'other with Thrale	S
But no matter I'll warrant we'll make up the party	B
With two full as clever and ten times as hearty	B
The one is a Scotchman the other a Jew	D
They 're both of them merry and authors like you	D
The one writes the 'Snarler' the other the 'Scourge'	D
Some think he writes 'Cinna' he own to 'Panurge' '	-
While thus he describ'd them by trade and by name	T
They enter'd and dinner was serv'd as they came	T
	-
At the top a fried liver and bacon were seen	U
At the bottom was tripe in a swinging tureen	U
At the sides there was spinach and pudding made hot	B
In the middle a place where the pasty was not	B
Now my Lord as for tripe it's my utter aversion	U
And your bacon I hate like a Turk or a Persian	U
So there I sat stuck like a horse in a pound	B
While the bacon and liver went merrily round	B
But what vex'd me most was that d 'd Scottish rogue	V
With his long winded speeches his smiles and his brogue	V
And 'Madam ' quoth he 'may this bit be my poison	U
A prettier dinner I never set eyes on	U
Pray a slice of your liver though may I be curs'd	B
But I've eat of your tripe till I'm ready to burst	B
'The tripe ' quoth the Jew with his chocolate cheek	V
'I could dine on this tripe seven days in the week	V
I like these here dinners so pretty and small	S
But your friend there the Doctor eats nothing at all '	-
'O Oh ' quoth my friend 'he'll come on in a trice	W
He's keeping a corner for something that's nice	W
There's a pasty' 'A pasty ' repeated the Jew	D
'I don't care if I keep a corner for't too '	-
'What the de'il mon a pasty ' re echoed the Scot	B
'Though splitting I'll still keep a corner for thot '	-
'We'll all keep a corner ' the lady cried out	B
'We'll all keep a corner ' was echoed about	B
While thus we resolv'd and the pasty delay'd	B
With look that quite petrified enter'd the maid	B
A visage so sad and so pale with affright	B
Wak'd Priam in drawing his curtains by night	B
But we quickly found out for who could mistake her	A
That she came with some terrible news from the baker	A
And so it fell out for that negligent sloven	U
Had shut out the pasty on shutting his oven	U
Sad Philomel thus but let similes drop	X
And now that I think on't the story may stop	X
To be plain my good Lord it's but labour misplac'd	B
To send such good verses to one of your taste	B
You've got an odd something a kind of discerning	V
A relish a taste sicken'd over by learning	V
At least it's your temper as very well known	U
That you think very slightly of all that's your own	U
So perhaps in your habits of thinking amiss	Y
You may make a mistake and think slightly of this	Y

Oliver Goldsmith

The Haunch Of Venison - A Poetical Epistle To Lord Clare Poem Rhyme Scheme and Analysis

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