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.