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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 coxcomb, 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 hackrey-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
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.
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 odd 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 Scurge; 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 THE 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
The wretch condemn'd with life to part,
Bids expectation rise.
Hope, like the glimmering taper's light, But what vex'd me most was that d 1 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.
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 đoctor, eats nothing at all.” Thy smiles increase the wretch's woe; "0—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.
To tell them the reason why asses had cars;
An't please you," quoth John, “ I'm not given to
[Dr. Goldsmith and some of his friends occasionally dined 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 Re. EPITAPH ON EDWARD PURDON.* taliation, and at their next meeting produced the following
poem.) Here lies poor Ned Purdon, from misery freed, or old, when Scarron his companions invited,
Who long was a bookseller's hack;
Each guest brought his dish, and the feast was
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;
Our Garrick'stt a sallad; for in him we see
Oil, vinegar, sugar, and saltness agree:
To make out the dinner, full certain l am,
With manners wondrous winning; That Hickey's!!!I a capon, and by the same rule,
Magnanimous Goldsmith a gooseberry fool.
At a dinner so various, at such a repast,
Who'd not be a glutton, and stick to the last?
Here, waiter, more wine, let me sit while I'm able,
Till all my companions sink under the table;
Then, with chaos and blunders encircling my head,
Let me ponder, and tell what I think of the dead.
“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,
i Mr. Richard Burke, collector of Granada. Her last disorder mortal.
f 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 lis.
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 forge ries) of his countrymen; particularly Lauder on Milton, and
Bower's History of the Popes. This gentleman was educated at Trinity College, Dublin; 17 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 SS Sir Joshua Reynolds. Voltaire's Henriade.
11 An eminent attorney.
Here lies the good dean,* re-united to earth, A flattering painter, who made it his care
His gallants are all faultless, his women divine,
And coxcombs, alike in their failings alone,
To find out men's virtues, and finding them few,
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
Our Dodds* shall be pious, our Kenrickst shall
lecture; Here lies honest Willia.n, $ whose heart was a
Macphersont write bombast, and call it a style, mint,
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 T'he pupil of impulse, it forced him along,
over, His conduct still right, with his argument wrong; No countryman living their tricks to discover Still aiming at honour, yet fearing to roam,
Detection her taper shall quench to a spark, The coachman was tipsy, the chariot drove home:
And Scotchman meet Scotchman, and cheat in the 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;
On the stage he was natural, simple, affecting;
With no reason on earth to go out of his way,
He turned and he varied full ten times a-day:
If they were not his own by finessing and trick:
He cast off his friends, as a huntsman his pack, Doctor Bernard.
them back. 1 The Right Ilon. Edmund Burke. Mr. T. Townshend, member for Whitchurch. Mr. William Burke.
• The Rev. Dr. Dodd. | Mr. Richard Burke; (vide jage 161.) This gentleman 4 Dr. Kenrick, who read lectures at the Devil Tavern, under having slightly fractured one of his arms and legs at different the title of “ The School of Shakspeare.” times, tbe doctor had rallied him on those accidents, as a kind 1 James Macpherson, Esq. who lately, from the mere force of retributive justice for breaking his jesus upon other people. of his style, wrote down the first poet of all antiquity.
of praise a mere glutton, he swallow'd what came, Too courteous, perhaps, or obligingly flat?
Here Reynolds is laid, and to tell you my mind, you gave! How did Grub-street re-echo the shouts that you His manners were gentle
, complying, and bland :
His pencil was striking, resistless, and grand; raised,
Still born to improve us in every part, While he was be-Roscius'd, and you were be- His pencil our faces, his manners our heart : praised!
To coxcombs averse, yet most civilly steering, But peace to his spirit wherever it flies,
When they judged without skill, he was still hard To act as an angel and mix with the skies :
of hearing : Those poets, who owe their best fame to his skill, When they talk'd of their Raphaels, Corregios, Shall still be his flatterers, go where he will,
and stuff, Old Shakspeare receive him with praise and with He shifted his trumpet,* and only took snuff.
love, And Beaumonts and Bens be his Kellys above.
POSTSCRIPT. Here Hickey reclines, a most blunt pleasant creature,
After the fourth edition of this poem was printed, the pubAnd slander itself must allow him good nature;
lisher received the following Epitaph on Mr. Whitefoord, 1 He cherish'd his friend, and he relish'd a bumper,
from a friend of the late Doctor Goldsmith. Yet one fault he had, and that one was a thumper.
HERE Whitefoord reclines, and deny it who can, Perhaps you may ask if the man was a miser? Though he merrily lived, he is now a grave man: I answer no, no, for he always was wiser. Rare compound of oddity, frolic, and fun!
Who relish'd a joke, and rejoiced in a pun; Mr. Hugh Kelly, author of False Delicacy, Word to the Whose temper was generous, open, sincere; Wise, Clementina, School for Wives, etc. etc.
A stranger to flatt'ry, a stranger to fear; + Mr. William Woolfall, printer of the Morning Chronicle. Who scatter'd around wit and humour at will;
1 The following poems by Mr. Garrick, may in some measure account for the severity exercised by Dr. Goldsmith in Whose daily bons mols half a column might fill: respect to that gentleman.
A Scotchman, from pride and from prejudice free;
A scholar, yet surely no pedant was he.
What pity, alas ! that so liberal a mind
Yet content "if the table he set in a roar;"!
Whose talents to fill any station were fit,
Yet happy if Woodfalls confess'd him a wit.
Ye newspaper witlings ! ye pert scribbling folks! With the love of a wench let his writinys be chaste;
Who copied his squibs, and re-echoed his jokes; Tip his tongue with strange matter, his pen with fine taste; Ye tame imitators, ye servile heril, come, That the rake and the poet o'er all may prevail,
Sull follow your master, and visit his tomb. Set fire to the head, and set fire to the tail:
To deck it, bring with you festoons of the vine, For the joy of each sex, on the world I'll bestow it, This scholar, rake, Christian, dupe, gamester, and poet ;
And copious libations bestow on his shrine; Though a mixture so odd, he shall merit great fame,
Then strew all around it (you can do no lies) And among brother morials—be Goldsmith his name; Cross-readings, ship-neus, and mistakes of the When on earth this strange meteor no more shall appear,
press.lt You, Hermes, shall fetch him—to make us sport here.
* Sir Joshua Reynolds was so remarkably deaf, as to be un. ON DR. GOLDSMITH'S CHARACTERISTICAL
der the necessity of using an ear-trumpet in company. COOKERY
† Mr. Caleb Whitefoord, author of many humorous essays
Mr. W. was so not wrious a punster, that Dr. Goldsmith A JEU D'ESPRIT.
used to say it was impossible to keep him company, withou: Are these the choice dishes the doctor has sent us? being irfected with the itch of punning. Is this the great poet whose works so content us ?
$ Mr. H. S. Woodfall, printer of the Public Advertiser. This Goldsmith's fine feast, who has written fine books? I Mr. Whitefoord has frequently indulged the towli with br. Heaven sends us grand meat, but the Devil sends cooks. morous pieces under those tiles in the Public Advertiser
SPOKEN BY MR. QUICK.
Merry Whitefoord, farewell! for thy sake I ad-There mangroves spread, and larger than I've seen mit
[Pit. 'That a Scot may have humour, I had almost said
Here trees of stately size—and billing turtles in 'em wit.
(Balconies Snis debt to thy mem'ry I can not refuse, Here ill-condition'd oranges abound "Thou best humourd man with the worst hu
(Stage mour'd Muse."
And apples, bitter apples strew the ground:
[Tasting 'hem The inhabitants are cannibals, I fear: SONG:
I heard a hissing—there are serpents here! INTENDED TO HAVE BEEN SUNG IN THE COMEDY OF O, there the people are—best keep my distance: SHE STOOPS TO CONQUER.*
Our captain, gentle natives! craves assistance; An me! when shall I marry me?
Our ship’s well stored—in yonder creek we've laid
her, Lovers are plenty; but fail to relieve me.
His honour is no mercenary trader.
This is his first adventure, lend him aid,
And we may chance to drive a thriving trade. But I will rally, and combat the ruiner:
His goods, he hopes, are prime, and brought from
I'd best step back-and order up a sample.
SPOKEN BY MR. LEE LEWES, IN THE CHARACTER OF THEATRE-ROYAL COVENT GARDEN, MDCCLXXII.
HARLEQUIN, AT HIS BENEFIT In these bold times, when Learning's sons explore Hold! Prompter, hold! a word before your nonThe distant climates, and the savage shore; When wise astronomers to India steer,
I'd speak a word or two, to ease my conscience. And quit for Venus many a brighter here; My pride forbids it ever should be said, While botanists, all cold to smiles and dimpling, My heels eclipsed the honours of my head; Forsake the fair, and patiently-go simpling;
That I found humour in a piebald vest, Our bard into the general spirit enters,
Or ever thought that jumping was a jest. And fits his little frigate for adventures.
(Takes off his mask. With Scythian stores, and trinkets deeply laden, Whence, and what art thou, visionary birth ? He this way steers his course, in hopes of trading-Nature disowns, and reason scorns thy mirth; Yet ere he lands he's order'd me before,
In thy black aspect every passion sleeps, To make an observation on the shore.
The joy that dimples, and the woe that weeps. Where are we driven? our reckoning sure is lost! How hast thou fill'd the scene with all thy brood This seems a rocky and a dangerous coast.
Of fools pursuing, and of foole pursued ! Lord, what a sultry climate am I under!
Whose ins and outs no ray of sense discloses, Yon ill foreboding cloud seems big with thunder: Whose only plot it is to break our noses ;
(Upper Gallery. Whilst from below the trap-door demons rise,
And from above the dangling deities; SIR-I send you a small production of the late Dr. Gold. And shall I mix in this unhallow'd crew ? emith, which has never been published, and which might perhaps have been totally lost, had I not secured it. He intended May rosin'd lightning blast me if I do! It as a song in the character of Miss Hardcastle, in his admi. No—I will act, I'll vindicate the stage: cable comedy of “She Stoops to Conquer,” but it was left out, Shakspeare himself shall feel my tragic rage. as Mrs. Bulkley, who played the part, did not sing. He sung Off! off! vile trappings! a new passion reigns! it himself in private companies very agreeably. The tune is a The madd’ning monarch revels in my veins. pretty Irish air, called “The Humours of Balamagairy," to which, he told me, he found it very difficult to adapt words; Oh! for a Richard's voice to catch the theme: but he has succeeded very happily in these few lines. As 1 Give me another horse! bind up my wounds !-could sing the tune, and was fond of them, he was so good as to soft-'twas but a dream. give me them, awut a year ago, just as I was leaving London, Ay, 'twas but a dream, for now there's no retreatand bidding him adicu for that season, little apprehending cha. . was a last farewell. I preserve this little relic, in his
ing own hand writing, with an affectionate care.
If I cease Harlequin, I cease from eating.
JAMES BOSWELL. Yet something vain, like one that shall be nameless,