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come;

Left alone to reflect, having emptied my shelf, "What the de’il, mon, a pasty!" re-echoed the Scot, 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 clogg'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 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 closct, 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.

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 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 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

SONG. In the middle a place were the pasty-was not.

The wretch condemn'd with life to part, Now, my lord, as for tripe, it's my utter aversion, Still, still on hope relies; And your bacon I hate like a Turk or a Persian; And every pang that rends the heart, So there I sat stuck like a horse in a pound,

Bids expectation rise. While the bacon and liver went merrily round:

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.
brogue,
And “Madam," quoth he, "may this bit be my
poison,

SONG.
A prettier dinner I never set eyes on:
Pray a slice of your liver, though may I be curst,

O MEMORY! thou fond deceiver,
But I've cat of your tripe till I'm ready to burst.”

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; "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.
He's keeping a corner for something that's nice;
There's a pasty" —"A pasty!" repeated the Jew,
“I don't care if I keep a corner for't too."

THE CLOWN'S REPLY. • See the letters that passed between his Royal Highness, John Trott was desired by two witty peers, Henry Duke of Cumberland, and Lady Grosvenor. - 12mo, 1769.

|To tell them the reason why asses had ears;

hot ;

"An't please you,” quoth John, “ I'ni not given to
letters,

RETALIATION;
Nor dare I pretend to know more than my betters;
Howe'er from this time I shall ne'er see your graces,

A POEM.
As I hope to be saved! without thinking on asses."
Edinburgh, 1753.

{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;
He led such a damnable life in this world,

Each guest brought his dish, and the feast was I don't think he'll wish to come back.

united; If our landlord* supplies us with beef, and with fish, Let each guest bring himself, and he brings the

best dish; AN ELEGY

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 Dickil with his pepper shall heighten the saWho never wanted a good word,

vour; From those who spoke her praise.

Our Cumberland's T 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 Who left a pledge behind.

Oil, vinegar, sugar, and saltness agree:

To make out the dinner, full certain I am, She strove the neighbourhood to please That Ridgeit is anchovy, and Reynoldsss is lamb;

With manners wondrous winning; That Hickey'slli 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,

Who'd not be a glutton, and stick to the last? At church, in silks and satins new, With hoop of monstrous size;

Here, waiter, more wine, let me sit while I'm able, 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, ocWhen she has walk'd before.

casionally dined.

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.

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; 17 David Garrick. Esq. fart having wasted his patrimony, he enlisted as a foot-soldier. 11 Counsellor John Ridge, a gentleman belonging to the Gmwing 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.

!! 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 'em. 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 Townshendt to lend him a Quite sick of pursuing each troublesome elf, vote:

"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 feard 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, $ whose heart was a

Macphersont write bombast, and call it a style, mint,

Our Townshend make speeches, and I shall com. While 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,

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; Alas, that such frolic 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

them back.
1 The Right Hon. Edmund Burke.
Mr. T. Townshend, member for Whitchurch.
Mr. William Burke.

• The Rev. Dr. Dodd. I Mr. Richard Burke; (vido page 161.) This gentleman + 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, the doctor had rallied him on those accidents, as a kind James Macpherson, Esq. who lately, from the mere fonds of retributive justice for breaking his jests upon other people. For his style, wrote down the first poet of all antiquity.

* Doctor Bernard.

Of praise a mere glutton, he swallow'd what came, Too courteous, perhaps, or obligingly flat?
And the puffof a dunce, he mistook it for fame; His very worst foe can't accuse him of that.
Till his relish, grown callous almost to disease, Perhaps he confided in men as they go,
Who pepper'd the highest, was surest to please. And so was too foolishly honest ? ah, no!
But let us be candid, and speak out our mind, Then what was his failing? come tellit, and burn ye:
If dunces applauded, he paid them in kind. He was, could he help it? a special attorney.
Ye Kenricks, ye Kellys,* and Woodfallst so grave,
What a commerce was yours, while you got and He has not left a wiser or better behind;

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 be, 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.I

POSTSCRIPT. Here Hickey reclines, “a most blunt pleasant creature,

After the fourth edition of this poem was printed, the pub. And slander itself must allow him good nature;

lisher received the following Epitaph on Mr. Whitefoord, I 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, anthor 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 Woodfall, printer of the Morning Chroniclc. Who scatter'd around wit and humour at will;

The following poems by Mr. Garrick, may in some mea. gure account for the severity exercised by Dr. Goldsmith in Whose daily bons mots 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.
JUPITER AND MERCURY, A FABLE.
Here Hermes, says Jove, who with nectar was mellow,

What pity, alas! that so liberal a mind
Go fetch me some clay-I will make an odd fellou!

Should so long be to newspaper essays

confined! Right ani wrong shall be jumbled,-much gold and some Who perhaps to the summit of science could soar, dros;

Yet content "if the table he set in a roar;"
Without cause be he pleased, without cause be he cross ;

Whose talents to fill any station were fit,
Be sure, a l work, to throw in contradictions,
A great love of truth, yet a mind turn d to fictions;

Yet happy if Woodfalls confess'd him a wit.
Now mix these ingredients, which, warm'd in the baking,
Turned to learning and gaming, religion and raking.

Ye newspaper witlings! ye pert scribbling folks! With the love of a wench let his writings be chaste;

Who copied his squibs, and re-echoed his jokes; Tip his congue with strange matter, his pen with fine taste; Ye tame imitators, ye servile herd, come, That the rake and the poet o'er all may prevail,

Still follow your master, and visit his tomb. Set fire to the head, and set fire to the tail:

To deck it, bring with you festoone 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 less) And among brother mortalsbe Goldsmith his name; Cross-readings, ship-news, and mistakes of the When on earth this strange meteor no more shall appear, press.ll You, Hermes, shall fetch him— make us sport here.

* Sir Joshua. Reynolds was so remarkably deaf, ag to be unOX DR. GOLDSMITH'S CHARACTERISTICAL

der the necessity of using an ear-trumpet in company. COOKERY.

t Mr. Caleb Whitefoord, author of many humorous essays,

Mr. W. was so notorious a punster, that Dr. Goldsmith A JEU D'ESPRIT.

used to say it was impossible to keep him company, without Ate these the choice dishes the doctor has sent us? being infected 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 town with hu. Heaven sende os guod meat, but the Devil sends cooks, morous pieces under those tities in the Public Advertiser.

(Tasting them

sense :

Merry Whitefoord, farewell! for thy sake I ad-There mangroves spread, and larger than I've seen mit

'emThat a Scot may have humour, I had almost said Here trees of stately size and billing turtles in 'em

[Pit. wit.

(Balconies This debt to thy mem'ry I can not refuse, Here ill-condition'd

oranges abound “Thou best humour'd man with the worst hu

(Stage. mour'd Muse."

And apples, bitter apples strew the ground:

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. He, fond youth, that could carry me,

This is his first adventure, lend him aid, Offers to love, but means to deceive me.

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
Not a look, nor a smile shall my passion discover. far,
She that gives all to the false one pursuing her, Equally fit for gallantry and war.
Makes but a penitent, and loses a lover. What, no reply to promises so ample?

I'd best step back—and order up a sample.
PROLOGUE TO ZOBEIDE;
A TRAGEDY:

EPILOGUE
WRITTEN BY JOSEPH CRADDOCK, ESQ. ACTED AT THE

SPOKEN BY MR. LEE LEWES, IN THE CHARACTER OF THEATRE-ROYAL, COVENT GARDEN, MDCCLXXII. SPOKEN BY MR. QUICK.

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. 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 fools 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? smith, 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: rable 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 on! 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," 10 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 i 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, about a year ago , just as I was leaving London

, Ay, 'twas but a dream, for now there's no retreatand bidding him adieu for that season, liule apprehending that it was a last farewell. I preserve this little relic, in his

ing, own hand-writing, with an atfectionate care.

If I cease Harlequin, I cease from eating.
I am, sir, your humble servant, 'Twas thus that sop's stag, a creature blameless,
JAMES BOSWELL.

Yet something vain, like one that shall be nameless,

(Takes off his mask.

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