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RETALIATION.

A POEM.

[Dr. Goldfmith, and the Gentlemen characterised in this Poem, occafionally dined at the St. James's Coffeehoufe One day it was propofed to write Epitaphs on him. His country, dialect, and perfon, furnished fubjects of witticifm. He was called on for RETALIATION, and at their next meeting produced this Poem. It was first printed in the year 1774, after the Author's death.]

OF

F old, when Scarron his companions invited,
Each guest brought his dish, and the feast was united;
If our landlord (a) supplies us with beef, and with fish,
Let each guest bring himself, and he brings the beft difh:
Our dean (b) fhall be venifon, juft fresh from the plains;
Our Burke(c) fhall be tongue, with the garnifh of brains;
Our Will (d) shall be wild fowl, of excellent flavour,
And Dick(e) with his pepper fhall heighten the favour;
Our Cumberland's(f) fweet-bread its place fhall obtain,
And Douglas (g) is pudding, substantial and plain;

(a) The mafter of the St. James's Coffeehouse.
(6) Dr. Bernard, dean of Derry, in Ireland.
(c) Mr. Edmund Burke.

(d) Mr. William Burke, late fecretary to General Conway. (e) Mr. Richard Burke, collector of Grenada.

(f) Mr. Richard Cumberland, author of the Weft Indian, and other dramatic pieces.

(g) Dr. Douglas, canon of Windfor, an ingenious Scotch gentleman, who has no less distinguished himself as a citi

Our Garrick's(E) a fallad-for in him we fee
Oil, vinegar, fugar, and faltnefs agree:

To make out the dinner, full certain I am,
That Ridge() is anchovy, and Reynolds(k) is lamb;
That Hickey's() a capon, and, by the fame rule,
Magnanimous Goldsmith a gooseberry fool.
At a dinner so various—at such a repast,
Who'd not be a glutton, and flick to the last!
Here, waiter, more wine-let me fit while I'm able,
'Till all my companions fink under the table;
Then, with chaos and blunders encircling my head,
Let me ponder, and tell what I think of the dead.
Here lies the good dean(m), re-united to earth,
Who mixt reafon with pleasure, and wisdom with mirth:
If he had any faults, he has left us in doubt—
At least, in fix weeks, I could not find 'em out;
Yet fome have declar'd, and it can't be deny'd 'em,
That fly-boots was cursedly cunning to hide 'em.
Herelies our goodEdmund (2), whofe genius was fuch,
We scarcely can praise it, or blame it too much;
Who, born for the universe, narrow'd his mind,
And to party gave up what was meant for mankind.
'Tho' fraught with all learning, yet straining his throat,
Toperfuade Tommy Townshend (0) to lend him a vote;

zen of the world, than a found critic, in detecting several literary mistakes (or rather forgeries) of his countrymen; particularly Lauder on Milton, and Bower's Hiftory of the Popes.

(h) David Garrick, efq.

(i) Counsellor John Ridge, a gentleman belonging to the Irish bar.

(k) Sir Joshua Reynolds.

(m) Vide page 63.

(1) An eminent attorney.

(n) Vide page 63.

(0) Mr. T. Townshend, member for Whitchurch.

Who, too deep for his hearers, still went on refining,
And thought of convincing, while they thoughtof dining;
Though equal to all things, for all things unfit-
Too nice for a statesman-too proud for a wit—
For a patriot, too cool-for a drudge, disobedient-
And too fond of the right to pursue the expedient.
In short, 'twas his fate, unemploy'd, or in place, sir,
To eat mutton cold, and cut blocks with a razor.

Here lies honeft William(p), whose heart was a mint,
While the owner ne'er knew half the good that was in't;
The pupil of impulfe, it forc'd him along-
His conduct ftill right, with his argument wrong;
Still aiming at honour, yet fearing to roam,
The coachman was tipfey, the chariot drove home:
Would you ask for his merits? alas! he had none;
What was good was fpontaneous, his faults were his own.
Here lies honeft Richard, whose fate I must figh at-
Alas, that fuch frolic should now be fo quiet!
What fpirits were his! what wit and what whim!
Now breaking a jest, and now breaking a limb!(q)
Now wrangling and grumbling to keep up the ball!
Now teazing and vexing, yet laughing at all!
In fhort, fo provoking a devil was Dick,

That we wish'd him full ten times a-day at Old Nick; But, miffing his mirth and agreeable vein,

As often we wish'd to have Dick back again.

(p) Vide page 63.

(9) Mr. Richard Burke. This gentleman having slightly fractured one of his arms and legs, at different times, the doctor has rallied him on those accidents, as a kind of retributive juftice for breaking his jefts upon other people.

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Here Cumberland(r) lies, having acted his parts-
The Terence of England, the mender of hearts;
A flattering painter, who made it his care

To draw men as they ought to be-not as they are:
His gallants are all faultless, his women divine,
And comedy wonders at being so fine-
Like a tragedy-queen he has dizen'd her out,
Or rather like tragedy giving a rout:

His fools have their follies fo loft in a crowd
Of virtues and failings, that folly grows proud;
And coxcombs, alike in their failings alone,
Adopting his portraits, are pleas'd with their own.
Say, where has our poet this malady caught?
Or wherefore his characters thus without fault?
Say, was it that, vainly directing his view
To find out men's virtues, and finding them few,
Quite fick of pursuing each troublesome elf,
He grew lazy at last, and drew from himself?

Here Douglas(s) retires from his toils to relax,
The fcourge of impoftors, the terror of quacks:
Come, all ye quack-bards, and ye quacking divines,
Come, and dance on the spot where your tyrant reclines:
When fatire and cenfure encircled his throne,
I fear'd for your fafety-I fear'd for my own;
But now he is gone, and we want a detector,
OurDodds(t)shall be pious,ourKenricks()shall lecture;

(7) Vide page 63.

(s) Ibid.

(t) The Rev. Dr. Dodd.

(u) Dr. Kenrick, who read lectures at the Devil Tavern, under the title of "The School of Shakespeare."

Macpherson(x) write bombaft, and call it a ftyle;
Our Townshend() make fpeeches,and I fhall compile;
NewLauders andBowers(z)theTweed shall cross over,
No countryman living their tricks to discover;
Detection her taper shall quench to a spark,

And Scotchman meet Scotchman, and cheat in the dark.
Here lies David Garrick, defcribe me who can,
An abridgment of all that was pleasant in man;
As an actor, confefs'd without rival to fhine-
As a wit, if not firft, in the very first line;
Yet, with talents like thefe, and an excellent heart,
The man had his failings-a dupe to his art:
Like an ill-judging beauty, his colours he spread,
And beplaster'd with rouge his own natural red:
On the stage he was natural, fimple, affecting-
'Twas only that when he was off he was acting.
With no reason on earth to go out of his way,
He turn'd and he varied full ten times a-day-
Tho' fecure of our hearts, yet confoundedly sick,
If they were not his own by fineffing and trick,
He caft off his friends, as a huntsman his pack,
For he knew when he pleas'd he could whistle them back.
Of praife, a mere glutton, he swallow'd what came,
And the puff of a dunce, he mistook it for fame;
Till his relish, grown callous almost to disease,
Who pepper'd the higheft, was fureft to please.
But let us be candid, and speak out our mind-
If dunces applauded, he paid them in kind:

(x) James Macpherson, efq. who, from the mere force of his ftyle, wrote down the first poet of all antiquity. (y) Vide page 64. (z) Vide page 63.

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