Here lies David Garrick-describe me who can, For he knew when he pleased he could whistle them back. * Ye Kenricks, ye Kellys,† and Woodfalls so grave, What a commerce was yours, while you got and you gave? * Dr. William Kenrick, a reviewer, noted for his bitterness. He was the author of the letter on The Hermit,' in the St. James's Chronicle. † Mr. Hugh Kelly, author of False Delicacy,' 'Word to the Wise, 'Clementina,' 'School for Wives,' &c., &c. Mr. William Woodfall, editor of the Morning Chronicle. F rais'd How did Grub Street re-echo the shouts that you While he was be-Roscius'd, and you were be-prais'd? But peace to his spirit, wherever it flies, To act as an angel and mix with the skies: Those poets, who owe their best fame to his skill, Old Shakespeare receive him with praise and with love, * The following lines by Mr. Garrick, may, in some measure, account for the severity exercised by Dr. Goldsmith, in respect to that gentleman: JUPITER AND MERCURY. A FABLE. HERE, Hermes, says Jove, who with nectar was mellow, Go fetch me some clay-I will make an odd fellow; Right and wrong shall be jumbled,-much gold and some dross; Be sure, as I work, to throw in contradictions, A great love of truth, yet a mind turn'd to fictions! Set fire to the head, and set fire to the tail: For the joy of each sex, on the world I'll bestow it, ON DR. GOLDSMITH'S CHARACTERISTICAL COOKERY. A JEU D'ESPRIT. Here Hickey reclines, a most blunt, pleasant creature, And slander itself must allow him good nature; He cherish'd his friend, and he relish'd a bumper, Then what was his failing? come, tell it, and burn ye,— He was, could he help it?-a special attorney. Here Reynolds is laid, and, to tell you my mind, His manners were gentle, complying, and bland His pencil our faces, his manners our heart: To coxcombs averse, yet most civilly steering, When they judg'd without skill he was still hard of hearing: When they talk'd of their Raphaels, Correggios, and stuff, He shifted his trumpet,† and only took snuff. * Sir Joshua Reynolds was so remarkably deaf as to be under the necessity of using an ear-trumpet in company. POSTSCRIPT. AFTER the fourth edition of this poem was printed, the publisher received the following epitaph on Mr. Whitefoord,* from a friend of the late Doctor Goldsmith. HERE Whitefoord reclines, and deny it who can, What pity, alas! that so liberal a mind * Mr. Caleb Whitefoord, author of many humourous essays. + Mr. W. was so notorious a punster, that Doctor Goldsmith used to say it was impossible to keep him company, without being affected with the itch of punning, Whose talents to fill any station were fit, Ye newspaper witlings! ye pert scribbling folks! Who copied his squibs, and re-echoed his jokes ; Ye tame imitators, ye servile herd, come, Still follow your master, and visit his tomb : To deck it, bring with you festoons of the vine, And copious libations bestow on his shrine; Then strew all around it (you can do no less) Cross readings, ship news, and mistakes of the press. Merry Whitefoord, farewell! for thy sake I admit That a Scot may have humour, I'd almost said wit: This debt to thy memory I cannot refuse, 'Thou best humour'd man with the worst humour'd muse.' * M. H. S. Woodfall, printer of the Public Advertiser. † Mr. Whitefoord has frequently indulged the town with humorous pieces under those titles in the Public Advertiser. |