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A Scotchman, from pride and from prejudice free;
A scholar, yet surely no pedant was he.

What pity, alas ! that so lib'ral a mind
Should so long be to newspaper essays confin'd!
Who perhaps to the summit of science could soar,
Yet content “if the table he set on a roar;'
Whose talents to fill any station were fit,
Yet happy if Woodfall' confess'd him a wit.



Ye newspaper witlings ! ye pert scribbling folks !

Who copied his squibs, and re-echo'd 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-neus, and Mistakes of the Press.

Merry Whitefoord, farewell ! for thy sake I admit That a Scot may have humour, I had almost said wit. This debt to thy mem’ry I cannot refuse, “ Thou best-humour'd man with the worst-humour'd Muse." 3

i Henry Samson Woodfall--the Woodfall of Junius-died 1805.

? Whitefoord's “Errors of the Press,” printed in “The Public Advertiser,” were signed “Papyrius Cursor,” a happy designation, because a real Roman name.

3 “Retaliation” occasioned other effusions of the kind, of which the following alone are worth preserving :



“ Are these the choice dishes the Doctor has sent us?

Is this the great poet whose works so content us?
This Goldsmith's fine feast, who has written fine books?
Heaven sends us good meat, but the Devil sends couks."

Printed in Davies' “ Life of Garrick,” ii. 157, ed. 1780.




“ 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 ;
Without cause be he pleas'd, without cause be he cross ;
Be sure, as I work, to throw in contradictions,
A great lover of truth, yet a mind turn'd to fictions ;
Now mix these ingredients, which, warm'd in the baking,
Turn to learning and gaming, religion and raking.
With the love of a wench, let his writings be chaste;
Tip his tongue with strange matter, his pen with fine taste;
That the rake and the poet o'er all may prevail,
Set fire to his head, and set fire to his tail;
For the joy of each sex, on the world I'll bestow it,
This scholar, rake, Christian, dupe, gamester, and poet;
Though a mixture so odd, he shall merit great fame,
And among brother mortals—be Goldsmith his name;
When on earth this strange meteor no more shall appear,
You, Hermes, shall fetch him—to make us sport here."



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“Doctor, according to our wishes,

You've character'd us all in dishes ;
Served up a sentimental treat,
Of various emblematic meat ;
And now it's time, I trust, you'll think
Your company should have some drink ;
Else, take my word for it, at least
Your Irish friends won't like your feast.
Ring, then, and see that there is placed

To each according to his taste.
To Douglas, fraught with learned stock

Of critic lore, give ancient Hock;
Let it be genuine, bright, and fine,
Pure, unadulterated wine ;
For if there's fault in taste or odour,

He'll search it, as he search'd out Lauder.
“To Johnson, philosophic sage,

The moral Mentor of the age;

* Printed in Davies' “Life of Garrick,” ii. 160, ed. 1780. + First printed in “The Gentleman's Magazine" for August, 1778, p. 384.

Religion's friend, with soul sincere,
With melting heart, but look austere,
Give liquor of an honest sort,

And crown his cup with priestly Port.
“Now fill the glass with gay Champagne,

And frisk it in a livelier strain :
Quick ! quick ! the sparkling nectar quaff ;

Drink it, dear Garrick ! drink and laugh.
“ Pour forth to Reynolds, without stint,

Rich Burgundy of ruby tint;
If e'er his colours chance to fade,
This brilliant hue shall come in aid;
With ruddy light refresh the faces,
And warm the bosoms of the Graces.
“ To Burke a pure libation bring,

Fresh drawn from clear Castalian spring ;
With civic oak the goblet bind,
Fit emblem of his patriot mind ;
Let Clio at his table sip,

And Hermes hand it to his lip.
“Fill out my friend, the Dean of Derry,

A bumper of conventual Sherry.
Give Ridge and Hickey, generous souls !

Of Whisky punch convivial bowls ;
But let the kindred Burkes regale,

With potent draughts of Wicklow ale !
" To Cradock * next in order turn ye,

And grace him with the wines of Ferney.
Now, Doctor, you're an honest sticker,

So take your glass, and choose your liquor.
Wil't have it steep'd in Alpine snows,
Or damask'd at Silenus' nose?
With Wakefield's Vicar sip your tea,
Or to Thalia drink with me?
And, Doctor, I would have ye know it,
An honest I, though humble poet;
I scorn the sneaker like a toad,
Who drives his cart the Dover Road;
There, traitor to his country's trade,
Smuggles vile scraps of French brocade.
Hence with all such ! for you and I
By English wares will live and die.
Come, draw your chair, and stir the fire ;
Here boy !a pot of Thrale's Entire !”

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Alluding to Cradlock's adaptation of Voltaire's Goldsmith, p. 112, supplied a Prologue.


“BY DEAN BARNARD. “Dear Noll and dear Dick, since you've made us so merry, Accept the best thanks of the poor Dean of Derry ! Though I here must confess that your meat and your wine Are not to my taste, though they're both very fine ; For Sherry's a liquor monastic, you ownNow there's nothing I hate so as drinking alone : It may do for your Monks, or your Curates and Vicars, But for my part, I'm fond of more sociable liquors. Your Ven’son's delicious, though too sweet your sauce is Sed non ego maculis offendar paucis. So soon as you please you may serve me your dish up, But instead of your Sherry, pray make me a - Bishop."

* See note 3, p. 79.


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