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, unemployed or in place, sir,
To eat mutton cold, and cut blocks with a razor.
Here lies honest William, whose heart was a mint,
While the owner ne'er knew half the good that was
in't;

The pupil of impulse, it forced him along,

His conduct still right with his argument wrong;
Still aiming at honour, yet fearing to roam,

The coachman was tipsy, the chariot drove home.
Would you ask for his merits? alas! he had none;
What was good was spontaneous, his faults were his

own.

Here lies honest Richard, whose fate I must sigh at; Alas, that such frolic should now be so quiet! What spirits were his! what wit and what whim! Now breaking a jest, and now breaking a limb!t Now wrangling and grumbling to keep up the ball! Now teazing and vexing, yet laughing at all! In short so provoking a devil was Dick,

That we wished him full ten times a day at Old Nick; But, missing his mirth and agreeable vein,

As often we wished to have Dick back again.

* Vide page 68.

† Mr. Richard Burke; vide page 68. 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 justice for breaking his jests upon other people.

Here *Cumberland 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 dizened her out,
Or rather like tragedy given a rout.

His fools have their follies so lost in a crowd
Of virtues and feelings, that folly grows proud;
And coxcombs alike in their failings alone,
Adopting his portraits, are pleased 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 sick of pursuing each troublesome elf,
He grew lazy at last, and drew from himself?

Here Douglas retires from his toils to relax, The scourge of impostors, the terror of quacks: Come, all ye quack bards, and ye quaking divines, Come, and dance on the spot where your tyrant reWhen satire and censure encircled his throne, [clines: I feared for your safety, I feared for my own; But now he is gone, and we want a detector: [ture; Our Dodds shall be pious, our §Kenricks shall lec

* Vide page 68.

† Vide page 68.

The Rev. Dr. Dodd.

§ Dr. Kenrick, who read lectures at the Devil Tavern, under the title of "The School of Shakspeare."

*Macpherson write bombast, and call it a style; Our Townshend make speeches, and I shall compile; New Lauders and Bowers the Tweed shall cross

over,

No countryman living their tricks to discover;
Detection her taper shall quench to a spark, [dark.
And Scotchman meet Scotchman, and cheat in the
Here lies §David Garrick; describe me, who can,
An abridgement of all that was pleasant in man;
As an actor, confessed without rival to shine;
As a wit, if not first, in the very first line :
Yet, with talents like these, and an excellent heart,
The man had his failings, a dupe to his art.
Like an ill-judging beauty, his colours he spread,
And beplastered with rouge his own natural red.
On the stage he was natural, simple, affecting;
'Twas only that, when he was off, he was acting.
With no reason on earth to go out of his way,
He turned and he varied full ten times a day :
Though secure of our hearts, yet, confoundedly sick,
If they were not his own by finessing and trick:
He cast off his friends, as a huntsman his pack,
For he knew, when he pleased, he could whistle them
back.

Of praise a mere glutton, he swallowed what came,
And the puff of a dunce he mistook it for fame;

* James Macpherson, esq. who lately, from the mere force of his style, wrote down the first poet of all antiquity. + Vide page 68.

† Vide page 69. §'Vide page 68.

Till his relish grown callous, almost to disease,
Who peppered the highest, was surest to please.
But let us be candid, and speak out our mind;
If dunces applauded, he paid them in kind.
Ye *Kenricks, ye †Kellys, and ‡Woodfalls, so grave,
What a commerce was yours, while you got and you
gave!

How did Grub-street re-echo the shouts that you raised
While he was be-Rosciused, and you were be-praised!
But peace to his spirit wherever it flies,

To act as an angel, and mix with the skies :

Those poets, who owe their best fame to his skill, Shall still be his flatterers, go where he will. [love, Old Shakspeare, receive him, with praise and with And Beaumonts and Bens be his Kellys above. [ture,

Here §Hickey reclines, a most blunt pleasant creaAnd slander itself must allow him good-nature : He cherished his friend, and he relished a bumper, Yet one fault he had, and that one was a thumper. Perhaps you may ask if the man was a miser: I answer, no, no; for he always was wiser. Too courteous, perhaps, or obligingly flat? His very worst foe can't accuse him of that, Perhaps he confided in men as they go, And so was too foolishly honest? ah, no!

* Vide page 71.

Mr. Hugh Kelly, author of False Delicacy, Word to the

Wise, Clementina, School for Wives, &c. &c.

Mr. William Woodfall, printer of the Morning Chronicle. § Vide page 69.

Then what was his failing? come tell it, and burn ye, He was, could he help it? a special attorney.

Here *Reynolds is laid, and, to tell you my mind,
He has not left a wiser or better behind :
His pencil was striking, resistless and grand;
His manners were gentle, complying, and bland;
Still born to improve us in every part,

His pencil our faces, his manners our heart:
To coxcombs averse, yet most civilly steering,
When they judged without skill he was still hard of
hearing:

When they talked of their Raphaels, Corregios, and
He shifted his trumpet, and only took snuff. [stuff,

POSTSCRIPT.‡

Here Whitefoord reclines, and deny it who can, Though he merrily lived, he is now a §grave man : Rare compound of oddity, frolic and fun! Who relished a joke, and rejoiced in a pun; Whose temper was generous, open, sincere; A stranger to flattery, a stranger to fear; Who scattered around wit and humour at will; Whose daily bon mots half a column might fill;

* Vide page 69.

Sir Joshua Reynolds was so remarkably deaf, as to be under the necessity of using an ear trumpet in company.

After the fourth edition of Retaliation was printed, the publisher received the above epitaph on Mr. Caleb Whitefoord, from a friend of the late Doctor Goldsmith.

§ Mr. W. was so notorious a punster, that Dr. Goldsmith used to say it was impossible to keep him company, without being infected with the itch of punning.