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Alive, the foe thy dreadful vigor fled,

And saw thee fall with joy-pronouncing eyes:
Yet they shall know thou conquerest, though dead,
Since from thy tomb a thousand heroes rise!

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* First printed in The Bee, 1759. The original is in "Ménagiana," tom. iv.

p. 200:

"ÉTRENNE À IRIS.

"Pour témoignage de ma flamme,

Iris, du meilleur de mon âme,
Je vous donne à ce nouvel an,
Non pas dentelle ni ruban,
Non pas essence, non pas pommade,
Quelques boîtes de marmelade,
Un mouchoir, des gants, un bouquet,
Non pas fleurs ni chapelet.

Quoi donc ? Attendez, je vous donne,

O fille plus belle que bonne!

Qui m'avez toujours refusé
Le point si souvent proposé-

Je vous donne-ah! le puis-je dire?
Oui; c'est trop souffrir le martyre,
Il est temps de m'émanciper,
Patience va m'échapper;
Fussiez-vous cent fois plus aimable,
Belle Iris, je vous donne-au diable."

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First printed in The Bee, 1759: "The elegy on Madam Blaize, and the better part of that on the Death of a Mad Dog,' are closely imitated from a wellknown French string of absurdities called 'La Chanson du Fameux La Galisse;' one of many versions of which may be found in the 'Ménagiana,' tom. iii. p. 29:

"Messieurs, vous plaît-il d'ouir

L'air du fameux La Galisse?

Il pourra vous rejouir

Pourvu qu'il vous divertissc.

The needy seldom pass'd her door,
And always found her kind;
She freely lent to all the poor-
Who left a pledge behind.

She strove the neighborhood to please,
With manners wond'rous winning,
And never follow'd wicked ways-
Unless when she was sinning.

At church, in silks and satins new,
With hoop of monstrous size,
She never slumber'd in her
pew-
But when she shut her eyes.

Her love was sought, I do aver,
By twenty beaux and more;
The king himself has follow'd her--
When she has walk'd before.

But now, her wealth and finery fled,
Her hangers-on cut short all;
The doctors found, when she was dead-
Her last disorder mortal.

Let us lament, in sorrow sore,

For Kent Street' well may say,

That had she liv'd a twelvemonth more

She had not died to-day.

"On dit que dans ses amours

Il fut caressé des belles

Qui le suivirent toujours

Tant qu'il marcha devant elles.

"Il fut, par un triste sort,

Blessé d'une main cruelle;

On croit, puisqu'il est mort

Que la plaie était mortelle."-CROKER.

'See note on Essay v. of Collected Essays, printed in Vol. III.

DESCRIPTION OF AN AUTHOR'S BEDCHAMBER.'

WHERE the Red Lion flaring o'er the way
Invites each passing stranger that can pay;
Where Calvert's butt, and Parson's black champagne,
Regale the drabs and bloods of Drury Lane;
There, in a lonely room, from bailiffs snug,
The Muse found Scroggen stretch'd beneath a rug.
A window, patch'd with paper, lent a ray,
That dimly show'd the state in which he lay;
The sanded floor that grits beneath the tread;
The humid wall with paltry pictures spread;
The royal Game of Goose was there in view,
And the Twelve Rules the royal martyr drew;'
The Seasons, fram'd with listing, found a place,
And brave Prince William' show'd his lamp-black face.
The morn was cold-he views with keen desire

The rusty grate unconscious of a fire;

With beer and milk arrears' the frieze was scor'd,
And five crack'd teacups dress'd the chimney-board;
A nightcap deck'd his brows instead of bay,

A cap by night-a stocking all the day!

1 First printed in The Citizen of the World, Letter xxx.; and afterwards inserted, with a few variations, in "The Deserted Village," 1770. On this subject Goldsmith had projected an heroi-comic poem, as appears by one of his letters to his brother.

2 Viz.: "1. Urge no healths; 2. Profane no divine ordinances; 3. Touch no State matters; 4. Reveal no secrets; 5. Pick no quarrels; 6. Make no comparisons; 7. Maintain no ill opinions; 8. Keep no bad company; 9. Encourage no vice; 10. Make no long meals; 11. Repeat no grievances; 12. Lay no wagers."

* William, Duke of Cumberland, the hero of Culloden, d. 1765.

"And now imagine, after his soliloquy, the landlord to make his appearance, in order to dun him for the reckoning:

"Not with that face, so servile and so gay,

That welcomes every stranger that can pay;
With sulky eye he smok'd the patient man,

Then pull'd his breeches tight, and thus began,' etc.

"All this is taken, you see, from nature. It is a good remark of Montaigne's,

THE DOUBLE TRANSFORMATION.

A TALE,1

SECLUDED from domestic strife,
Jack Bookworm led a college life;
A fellowship at twenty-five

Made him the happiest man alive;

He drank his glass and crack'd his joke,
And freshmen wonder'd as he spoke.'

Such pleasures, unalloy'd with care,
Could any accident impair?

Could Cupid's shaft at length transfix
Our swain, arriv'd at thirty-six?

Oh had the Archer ne'er come down
To ravage in a country town!
Or Flavia been content to stop
At triumphs in a Fleet Street shop!
Oh had her eyes forgot to blaze,
Or Jack had wanted eyes to gaze!
Oh!-but let exclamations cease;
Her presence banish'd all his peace.

that the wisest men often have friends with whom they do not care how much they play the fool. Take my present follies as instances of regard. Poetry is a much easier and more agreeable species of composition than prose; and could a man live by it, it were not unpleasant employment to be a poet."-GOLDSMITH, Letter to his Brother. See Letters, vol. iv.

1 First printed as Essay 26 in "Essays by Mr. Goldsmith," 1765, 12 mo.

2 Here followed, in the first edition:

"Without politeness, aim'd at breeding,
And laugh'd at pedantry and reading."

3 Here followed, in the first edition :

"Our alter'd parson now began
To be a perfect lady's man;
Made sonnets, lisp'd his sermons o'er,
And told the tales oft told before;
Of bailiffs pump'd and proctors bit;
At college how he show'd his wit;

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