At every draught more large and large they grow, A bloated mass of rank unwieldy woe;

Till sapp'd their strength, and every part unsound, Down, down they sink, and spread a ruin round.

E'en now the devastation is begun,
And half the business of destruction done;
E'en now, methinks, as pondering here I stand,
I see the rural virtues leave the land.

Down where yon anchoring vessel spreads the sail,
That idly waiting flaps with every gale,
Downward they move, a melancholy band,
Pass from the shore, and darken all the strand.
Contented toil, and hospitable care,

And kind connubial tenderness, are there;
And piety with wishes plac'd above,
And steady loyalty, and faithful love.

And thou, sweet Poetry, thou loveliest maid,
Still first to fly where sensual joys invade;
Unfit in these degenerate times of shame,
To catch the heart, or strike for honest fame;
Dear charming nymph, neglected and decried,
My shame in crowds, my solitary pride.
Thou source of all my bliss, and all my woe,
That found'st me poor at first, and keep'st me so ;
Thou guide, by which the nobler arts excel,
Thou nurse of every virtue, fare thee well!
Farewell, and O! where'er thy voice be tried,
On Torno's cliffs, or Pambamarca's side,
Whether where equinoctial fervours glow,
Or winter wraps the polar world in snow,
Still let thy voice, prevailing over time,
Redress the rigours of th' inclement clime;

Aid slighted truth with thy persuasive strain;
Teach erring man to spurn the rage of gain;
Teach him, that states of native strength possest,
Though very poor, may still be very blest ;
That trade's proud empire hastes to swift decay,
As ocean sweeps the labour'd mole away ;
While self-dependent power can time defy,
As rocks resist the billows and the sky. (1)

(1) ["Dr. Johnson favoured me by marking the lines which he furnished to Goldsmith's' Deserted Village,' which are only the four last.”—BoswELL, vol. ii. p. 309, edit. 1835.]

THE

HAUNCH OF VENISON.

A

POETICAL EPISTLE,

ΤΟ

LORD CLAR E.

[PART of the spring and summer of the year 1771, Goldsmith passed at Gosfield and at Bath, with his friend Lord Clare. On his return from this visit he drew up the following amusing little poem. It was not published till 1776, two years after his lecease. A second edition, with considerable additions and corrections, appeared in the same year. See Life, ch. xx.

"The leading idea of the Haunch of Venison,' observes the Right Hon. J. W. Croker, in a communication to the editor, "is taken from Boileau's third Satire (which itself was no doubt suggested by Horace's raillery of the banquet of Nasidienus); and two or three of the passages which one would, à priori, have pronounced the most original and natural, are closely copied from the French poet:—

'We'll have Johnson and Burke-all the wits will be there;
My acquaintance is slight, or I'd ask my Lord Clare.

Molière avec Tartuffe y doit jouer son rôle,

Et Lambert, qui plus est, m'a donné sa parole.'

My friend bade me welcome, but struck me quite dumb,
With tidings that Johnson and Burke would not come.

A peine étais-je entré, que ravi de me voir,

Mon homme, en m'embrassant, m'est venu recevoir ;
Et montrant à mes yeux une allégresse entière,

Nous n'avons, m'a-t-il dit, ni Lambert ni Molière.'

But, to be sure, Goldsmith's host, and his wife 'Little Kitty,' and the Scot, and the Jew, with his chocolate cheek,' are infinitely more droll and more natural than Boileau's deux campagnards. The details of the dinner, too, overdone and tedious in Boileau, are touched by Goldsmith with a pleasantry not carried too far."]

THE

HAUNCH OF VENISON.

THANKS, my Lord, for your Ven'son; for finer or fatter, Never rang'd in a forest, or smok'd in a platter: The Haunch was a picture for painters to study,

The fat was so white, and the lean was so ruddy; (1) Though my stomach was sharp, I could scarce help regretting,

To spoil such a delicate picture by eating:

I had thoughts in my Chambers to place it in view,
To be shown to my friends as a piece of virtù ;
As in some Irish houses, where things are so-so,
One 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 fry'd in. (2)
But hold-let me pause-Don't I hear you pronounce,
This tale of the bacon a damnable bounce?

Well! suppose it a bounce-sure a poet may try,
By a bounce now and then, to get courage to fly.

(1) ["The white was so white, and the red was so ruddy."-First edit.]

(2) [Nearly the same thought occurs in "Animated Nature," vol. iii. p. 9, as applicable to the peasantry of other countries: "There is scarcely a cottage in Germany, Poland, and Switzerland, that is not hung round with these marks of hospitality; and which often makes the owner better contented with hunger, since he has it in his power to be luxurious when he thinks proper. A piece of beef hung up there, is considered as an elegant piece of furniture, which, though seldom touched, at least argues the possessor's opulence and ease."]