ON THE DEATH OF THE RIGHT HON. ***

YE muses, pour the pitying tear

For Pollio snatched away;
Oh! had he lived another year-
He had not died to-day.

Oh! were he born to bless mankind

In virtuous times of yore,

Heroes themselves had fallen behind-
Whene'er he went before.

How sad the groves and plains appear
And sympathetic sheep;

Even pitying hills would drop a tear-
If hills could learn to weep.

His bounty in exalted strain

Each bard might well display,

Since none implored relief in vain—
That went relieved away.

And hark! I hear the tuneful throng

His obsequies forbid :

He still shall live, shall live as long

As ever dead man did.

ANSWER TO AN INVITATION TO DINNER.

"This is a poem. This is a copy of verses ""

The Inviter was Dr George Baker-the expected guests were Sir Joshua and Miss Reynolds, Angelica Kauffman, Mrs Horneck, her son Charles, and her daughters Mary (afterwards the wife of General Gwyn) and Catherine (afterwards Mrs Bun bury).

YOUR mandate I got

You may all go to pot:
Had your senses been right,
You'd have sent before night.

As I hope to be saved,
I put off being shaved-

For I could not make bold,
While the matter was cold,
To meddle in suds,

Or to put on my duds;
So tell Horneck and Nesbitt,
And Baker and his bit,
And Kauffman beside,

And the jessamy bride,
With the rest of the crew,
The Reynolds's two,

Little comedy's face,

And the captain in lace.

-By the by, you may tell him
I have something to tell him;
Of use, I insist,

When he comes to enlist.

Your worships must know

That a few days ago,

An order went out,

For the foot-guards so stout

To wear tails in high taste-
Twelve inches at least:

Now I've got him a scale
To measure each tail;

To lengthen a short tail,

And a long one to curtail.

Yet how can I, when vex'd,

Thus stray from my text!
Tell each other to rue

Your Devonshire crew,
For sending so late

To one of my state.

But 'tis Reynolds's way
From wisdom to stray,
And Angelica's whim

To be frolick like him

But alas! your good worships, how could they be wiser, When both have been spoil'd in to-day's Advertiser ?

OLIVER GOLDSMITH.

For giving advice that is not worth a straw
May well be called picking of pockets in law.
And picking of pockets, with which I now charge ye,
Is, by quinto Elizabeth, death without clergy.

What justice! When both to the Old Bailey brought;
By the gods! I'll enjoy it, though 'tis but in thought.
Both are placed at the bar with all proper decorum,
With bunches of fennel and nosegays before them;
Both cover their faces with mobs and all that.

But the judge bids them, angrily, take off their hat.
When uncovered, a buzz of inquiry runs round;

Pray, what are their crimes?" "They've been pilfering
found."

"But pray who have they pilfer'd!" "A doctor, I hear."
"What, that solemn-faced, odd-looking man that stands near?"
"The same." "What a pity! How does it surprise one,
Two handsomer culprits I never set eyes on!"

Then their friends all came round me with cringing and
lecring,

To melt me to pity, and soften my swearing.

First Sir Charles advances, with phrases well strung:
"Consider, dear doctor, the girls are but young."
"The younger the worse," I return him again;
"It shows that their habits are all dyed in grain."

But then they're so handsome; one's bosom it grieves."
"What signifies handsome when people are thieves?"
"But where is your justice? their cases are hard."
"What signifies justice? I want the reward."

There's the parish of Edmonton offers forty pounds-there's the parish of St Leonard, Shoreditch, offers forty pounds-there's the parish of Tyburn offers forty pounds: I shall have all that if 1 convict them.

"But consider their case: it may yet be your own;

And see how they kneel is your heart made of stone?"
This moves: so, at last, I agree to relent,

For ten pounds in hand, and ten pounds to be spent.

I challenge you all to answer this. I tell you, you cannot it cuts deep. But now for the rest of the letter; and next-but i want room-so I believe I shall battle the rest out at Barton some day next week.*

I don't value you all!

O. G.

Henry, the second son of Sir William Bunbury, Bart., was celebrated as an amateur artist. His lady was Miss Catherine Horneck. Her sister Mary was after. wards the wife of General Gwyn, one of the equerrles of George III Barton was the family seat of the Bunburys. F

THE GOOD-NATURED MAN.

A COMEDY.

PREFACE.

WHEN I undertook to write a comedy, I confess I was strongly prepossessed in favour of the poets of the last age, and strove to imitate them. The term genteel connedy was then unknown amongst us, and little more was desired by an audience, than nature and humour, in whatever walks of life they were most conspicuous. The author of the following scenes never imagined that more would be expected of him, and therefore to delineate character has been his principal aim. Those who know any thing of composition, are sensible, that in pursuing humour, it will sometimes lead us into the recesses of the mean; I was even tempted to look for it in the master of a spunging-house: but in deference to the public taste, grown of late, perhaps, too delicate, the scene of the bailiffs was retrenched in the representation. In deference also to the judgment of a few friends, who think in a particular way, the scene is here restored. The author submits it to the reader in his closet; and hopes that too much refinement will not banish humour and character from ours, as it has already done from the French theatre. Indeed the French comedy is now become so very elevated and sentimental, that it has not only banished humour and Molière from the stage, but it has banished all spectators too.

Upon the whole, the author returns his thanks to the public for the favourable reception which the Good-Natured Man has met with and to Mr Colman in particular, for his kindness to it. It may not also be improper to assure any who shall hereafter write for the theatre, that merit, or supposed merit, will ever be a sufficient passport to his protection.