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Where are the chiels? Ah! Ah, I well discern The Epilogue.
The smiling looks of each bewitching bairn.
Air-A bonny young lad is my Juckey.
I'll sing to amuse you by night and by day,
And be unco merry when you are but gay; Yes, the Epilogue, my dear.
When you with your bagpipes are ready to play, MRS. BULKLEY.
My voice shall be ready to carol away Sure you mistake, ma'am. The Epiloguc, I bring it. With Sandy, and Sawney, and Jockey,
With Sawney, and Jarvie, and Jockey.
Ye gamesters, who, so eager in pursuit,
“I hold the odds.-Done, done, with you, with you." Why, sure the girl's beside herself! an Epilogue Ye barristers, so fluent with grimace, of singing,
"My lord,—Your lordship misconceives the case." A hopeful end indeed to such a blest beginning Doctors, who cough and answer every misfortuner, Besides, a singer in a comic set
"I wish I'd been call'd in a little sooner: Excuse me, ma'am, I know the etiquette. Assist my cause with hands and voices hearty,
Come end the contest here, and aid my party. MISS CATLEY. What if we leave it to the house?
Ye brave Irish lads, hark away to the crack,
Assist me, I pray, in this woful attack;
For sure I don't wrong you, you seldom are shack,
When the ladies are calling, to blush and hang back, And she whose party's largest shall proceed.
For you're always polite and attentive, And first, I hope you'll readily agree
Still to amuse us inventive, I've all the critics and the wits for me;
And death is your only preventive: They, I am sure, will answer my commands:
Your hands and your voices for me.
We both agree, like friends, to end our jarring?
MRS. BULKLEY. Strephon caught thy ravish'd eye,
And now with late repentance, Pity take on your swain so clever,
Un-epilogued the poet waits his sentence.
Condemn the stubborn fool who can't submit
To thrive by flattery, though he starves by wit.
INTENDED FOR MRS. BULKLEY.
There is a place, so Ariosto sings,
But where's this place, this storehouse of the age? Ay, take your travellers
travellers indeed ! The Moon, says he ;-but I affirm, the Stage: Give me my bonny Scot, that travels from the At least in many things, I think, I see Tweed.
His lunar, and our mimic world agree.
But hold—let me pause--don't I hear you pro
Hoth shine at night, for, but at Foote's alone,
We scarce exhibit till the sun goes down.
But, my lord, it's no bounce: I protest in my turn,
eating! Your own, I suppose--or is it in waiting ?" " Why whose should it be?" cried I with a flounce; “I get these things often"-but that was a bounce: "Some lords, my acquaintance, that settle the na
tion, Are pleased to be kind—but I hate ostentation."
HAUNCH OF VENISON;
A POETICAL EPISTLE TO LORD CLARE,
“If that be the case then,” cried he, very gay, Thanks, my lord, for your venison, for fineror fatter
“ I'm glad I have taken this house in my way. Never ranged in a forest, or smoked in a platter.
To-morrow you take a poor dinner with me; The haunch was a picture for painters to study,
No wordsl insist on't-precisely at three; The fat was so white, and the lean was so ruddy; We'l have Johnson, and Burke, all the wits will Though my stomach was sharp, I could scarce
be there; help regretting
My acquaintance is slight, or I'dask my Lord Clare. To spoil such a delicate picture by eating:
And, now that I think on't, as I am a sinner! I had thoughts, in my chambers to place it in view, We wanted this venison to make out a dinner, To be shown to my friends as a piece of virtû;
What say you—a pasty? it shall, and it must, As in some Irish houses, where things are so 90,
And my wife, little Kitty, is famous for crust. Onc gammon of bacon hangs up for a show;
Here, porter—this venison with me to Mile-end: But for eating a rasher of what they take pride in, No stirring-1 beg—my dear friend—my dear
friend!" They'd as soon think of eating the pan it is fried in.
Thus snatching his hat, he brush'd off like the wind,
And the porter and eatables followed behind. *This Epilogue was given in MS. by Dr. Goldsmith to Dr. Percy (late Bishop of Dromore); but for what comedy it was intended is not remembered.
• Lord Clare's nephew
Left alone to reflect, having emptied my shelf, "What the de'il, mon, a pasty!" re-echoed the Scol, And "nobody with me at sea but myself;"* "Though splitting, I'll still keep a corner for that.” Though I could not help thinking my gentleman "We'll all keep a corner," the lady cried out; hasty,
“We'll all keep a corner," was echoed about. Yet Johnson and Burke, and a good venison pasty, While thus we resolved, and the pasty delay'd, Were things that I never disliked in my life, With looks that quite petrified, enter'd the maid: Though clogy'd with a coxcoml), and Kitty his wife, A visage so sad, and so pale with affright, So next day in due splendour to make my approach, Waked Priam in drawing his curtains by night. I drove to his door in my own hackney-coach. But we quickly found out, for who could mistake When come to the place where we all were to dine, her? (A chair-lumber'd closet, just twelve feet by nine,) That she came with some terrible news from the My friend bade me welcome, but struck me quite baker: dumb,
And so it fell out, for that negligent sloven With tidings that Johnson and Burke would not Had shut out the pasty on shutting his oven. come;
Sad Philomel thus—but let similes drop“For I knew it,” he cried; "both eternally tail, And now that I think on't, the story may stop. The one with his speeches, and t other with To be plain, my good lord, it's but labour misplaced Thrale;
To send such good verses to one of your taste; But no matter, I'll warrant we'll make up the party You've got an old something—a kind of discerning, With two full as clever, and ten times as hearty. A relish-a taste-sicken'd over by learning; The one is a Scotchman, the other a Jew, At least, it's your temper, as very well known, They're both of them merry, and authors like you: That you think very slightly of all that's your own: The one writes the Snarler, the other the Scourge; So, perhaps, in your habits of thinking amiss, Some think he writes Cinna—he owns to Panurge." You may make a mistake, and think slightly of this. While thus he described them by trade and by
name, They enter'd, and dinner was served as they came.
FROM TIIE ORATORIO OF THE CAPTIVITY. At the top a fried liver and bacon were seen, At the bottom was tripe in a swinging tureen; At the sides there was spinage, and pudding made
SONG. In the middle a place were the pasty-was not.
The wretch condemn'd with life to part,
Still, still on hope relies;
Bids expectation rise.
Hope, like the glimmering taper's light, But what vex'd me most was that - Scottish
Adorns and cheers the way; rogue,
And still, as darker grows the night, With his long-winded speeches, his smiles and his
Emits a brighter ray.
O MEMORY! thou fond deceiver,
Still importunate and vain, “ The tripe,'' quoth the Jew, with his chocolate
To former joys recurring ever, cheek,
And turning all the past to pain: "I could dine on this tripe seven days in a week : I like these here dinners, so pretty and small; Thou, like the world, th’ opprest oppressing, But your friend there, the doctor, eats nothing at all.” Thy smiles increase the wretch's woe; “O-ho!" quoth my friend, “he'll come on in a And he who wants each other blessing, trice,
In thee must ever find a foe.
THE CLOWN'S REPLY.
'An't please you,” quoth John, “I'm not given to
[Dr. Goldsmith and some of his friends occasionally dineil at the St. James's Coffee-house.-One day it was proposed to write epitaphs on him. His country, dialect, and person,
furnished subjects of witticism. He was called on for ReEPITAPH ON EDWARD PURDON. taliation, and at their next meeting produced the following
poem.) HERE lies
Ned Purdon, from misery freed, or old, when Scarron his companions invited, Who long was a bookseller's hack; He led such a damnable life in this world,
Each guest brought his dish, and the feast was
united; I don't think he'll wish to come back.
If our landlord* supplies us with beef, and with fish,
Our Deant shall be venison, just fresh from the
plains; ON THE GLORY OF HER SEX, MRS. MARY BLAIZE. Our Burket shall be tongue, with the garnish of
brains; Good people all, with one accord,
Our Wills shall be wild-fowl, of excellent flavour, Lament for Madam Blaize,
And Dickll with his pepper shall heighten the saWho never wanted a good word,
vour; From those who spoke her praise.
Our Cumberland's sweet-bread its place shall The needy seldom pass'd her door,
obtain, And always found her kind;
And Douglas** is pudding, substantial and plain; She freely lent to all the poor,
Our Garrick'stt a sallad; for in him we see
, vinegar, sugar, and saltness agree:
To make out the dinner, full certain I am, She strove the neighbourhood to please That Ridgett is anchovy, and Reynoldsss is lamb;
With manners wondrous winning; That Hickey'sht a capon, and by the same rule, And never follow'd wicked ways, Magnanimous Goldsmith a gooseberry fool. Unless when she was sinning
At a dinner so various, at such a repast, At church, in silks and satins new,
Who'd not be a glutton, and stick to the last?
Here, waiter, more wine, let me sit while I'm able, With hoop of monstrous size; She never slumber'd in her pew,
Till all my companions sink under the table ;
Then, with chaos and blunders encircling my head, But when she shut her eyes.
Let me ponder, and tell what I think of the dead. Her love was sought, I do aver, By twenty beaux and more;
* The master of the St. James's Coffee-house, where the The king himself has follow'd her,
doctor, and the friends he has characterized in this poem, oC. When she has walk'd before.
1 Doctor Bernard, dean of Derry, in Ireland. But now her wealth and finery fled,
The Right Hon. Edmund Burke.
$ Mr. William Burke, late secretary to General Conway, Her hangers-on cut short all;
and member for Bedwin. The doctors found, when she was dead,
| Mr. Richard Burke, collector of Granada. Her last disorder mortal.
[ Mr. Richard Cumberland, author of "The West Indian.”
“ Fashionable Lover," "The Brothers," and various other Let us lament, in sorrow sore,
productions. For Kent-street well may say,
* Dr. Douglas, canon of Windsor, (afterwards bishop of That had she lived a twelvemonth more,
Salisbury), an Ingenious Scotch gentleman, who no less dis.
tinguished himself as a citizen of the world, than a sound She had not died to-day.
critic, in detecting several literary mistakes (or rather forgeries) of his countrymen; particularly Lauder on Milton, and
Bower's History of the Popes. This gentleman was educated at Trinity College, Dublin; It David Garrick. Esq. but having wasted his patrimony, he enlisted as a foot-soldier. # Counsellor John Ridge, a gentleman belonging to the Growing tired of that employment, he obtained his discharge, Irish bar. and became a scribbler in the newspapers He translated $Sir Joshua Reynolds Voltaire's Henriade.
U An eminent attorney.
Here lies the good dean,* re-united to earth, A flattering painter, who made it his care Who mix'd reason with pleasure, and wisdom with To draw men as they ought to be, not as they are. mirth:
His gallants are all faultless, his women divine, If he had any faults, he has left us in doubt, And comedy wonders at being so fine; At least in six weeks I could not find 'em out; Like a tragedy queen he has dizen'd her out, Yet some have declared, and it can't be denied 'em, Or rather like tragedy giving a rout. That sly-boots was cursedly cunning to hide 'ein. His fools have their follies so lost in a crowd Here lies our good Edmund, t whose genius was Of virtues and feeling, that folly grows proud; such,
And coxcombs, alike in their failings alone, We scarcely can praise it, or blame it too much; Adopting his portraits, are pleased with their own; Who, born for the universe, narrow'd his mind, Say, where has our poet this malady caught, And to party gave up what was meant for mankind. Or, wherefore his characters thus without fault?, Though fraught with all learning, yet straining his Say, was it that vainly directing his view throat
To find out men's virtues, and finding them few, 'To persuade Tommy Townshendi to lend him a Quite sick of pursuing each troublesome elf,
He grew lazy at last, and drew from himself? Who, too deep for his hearers, still went on refining,
Here Douglas retires from his toils to relax, And thought of convincing, while they thought of The scourge of impostors, the terror of quacks; dining:
Come, all ye quack bards, and ye quacking divines, Though equal to all things, for all things unfit, Come, and dance on the spot where your tyrant Too nice for a statesman, too proud for a wit;
reclines: For a patriot, too cool; for a drudge, disobedient; When satire and censure encircled his throne, And too fond of the right to pursue the expedient. I fear’d for your safety, I fear'd for my own; In short, 'twas his fate, unemploy'd or in place, sir, But now he is gone, and we want a detector, To eat mutton cold, and cut blocks with a razor. Our Dodds* shall be pious, our Kenrickst shall
lecture; Here lies honest William, 5 whose heart was a mint,
Macphersont write bombast, and call it a style,
Our Townshend make speeches, and I shall comWhile the owner ne'er knew half the good that
pile: was in't;
New Lauders and Bowers the Tweed shall cross The pupil of impulse, it forced him along, His conduct still right, with his argument wrong; No countryman living their tricks to discover
over, Still aiming at honour, yet fearing to roam, The coachman was tipsy, the chariot drove home: And Scotchman meet Scotchman, and cheat in the
Detection her taper shall quench to a spark, Would you ask for his merits? alas! he had none;
dark. What was good was spontaneous, his faults were his own.
Here lies David Garrick, describe him who can, Here lies honest Richard, ll whose fate I must An abridgment of all that was pleasant in man; sigh at;
As an actor, confest without rival to shine; Alas, that such frulic should now be so quiet? As a wit, if not first, in the very first line; What spirits were his! what wit and what whim! Yet, with talents like these, and an excellent heart, Now breaking a jest, and now breaking a limb! The man had his failings, a dupe to his art. Now wrangling and grumbling to keep up the ball! Like an ill-judging beauty, his colours he spread, Now teasing and vexing, yet laughing at all! And beplaster'd with rouge his own natural red. In short, so provoking a devil was Dick,
On the stage he was natural, simple, affecting; That we wish'd him full ten times a-day at old 'Twas only that when he was off, he was acting Nick;
With no reason on earth to go out of his way, But missing his mirth and agreeable vein, He turned and he varied full ten times a-day: As often we wish'd to have Dick back again.
Though secure of our hearts, yet confoundedly sick Here Cumberland lies, having acted his parts,
If they were not his own by finessing and trick: The Terence of England, the mender of hearts;
He cast off his friends, as a huntsman his pack,
For he knew when he pleased he could whistle Doctor Bernard.
them back. + The Right Hon. Edmund Burke. Mr. T. Townshend, member for Whitchurch. $ Mr. William Burke.
• The Rev. Dr. Dodd. | Mr. Richard Burke; (vide page 161.) This gentleman # Dr. Kenrick, who read lectures at the Devil Tavern, under having slighily fractured one of his arms and legs at different the title of « The School of Shakspeare." times, the doctor hac rallied him on those accidents, as a kind James Macpherson, Esq. who lately, from the mere furot of retritrutive justice for breaking his jesus upon other people. Tof his style, wrote down the first poet of all antiquity.