Here lies honeft William, whose heart was a mint,
While the owner n'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 tipfy, 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, whofe fate I muft figh at,
Alas, that fuch frolic fhould now be fo quiet!
What fpirits were his, what wit and what whim,
(z) Now breaking a jeft, and now breaking a limb;
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 wifhed him full ten times a day at Old Nick.
But miffing his mirth and agreeable vein,
As often we wish'd to have Ďick back again.

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 faultlefs, his women divine,
And comedy wonders at being fo 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 feelings, 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 mens virtues and finding them few,
Quite fick of pursuing each troublesome elf,
He grew lazy at laft and drew from himself?

Here Douglas 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 Satire and Cenfure encircled his throne,

I fear'd for your safety, I fear'd for my own;

(a) Mr. Richard Burke; vide p. 197. This gentleman having flightly frac tured one of his arms and legs, at different times, the Doctor has raillied him on those accidents, as a kind of retributive justice for breaking his jets upon other people.

04

But

But now he is gone, and we want a detector,
Our Dodds fhall be pious, our Kenricks fhall lecture ;
Macpherson write bombast, and call it a style;
Our Townshend make speeches, and I shall compile;
New Lauders and Bowers the Tweed fhall cross over,
No countryman living their tricks to discover;
Detection her taper fhall 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, confeft without rival to fhine,
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 fpread,
And beplaifter'd, with rouge, his own natural red.
On the ftage 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 turned and he varied full ten times a-day;
Tho' fecure of our hearts, yet confoundedly fick,
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 praise 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 highest, was fureft 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 fo grave,

What a commerce was yours, while you got and you gave?
How did Grub ftreet re-echo the fhouts that you rais'd,

While he was berofcius'd, and you were beprais'd?'

But peace to his fpirit, wherever it flies,

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

Thofe poets, who owe their best fame to his skill,

Shall ftill be his flatterers, go where he will.

Old Shakespeare, receive him, with praife and with love,
And Beaumonts and Bens be his Kellys above.

Here Hickey reclines, a moft blunt, pleafant creature,

And flander itself muft allow him good nature:

He cherish'd his friend, and he relifh'd 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 wifer
Too courteous, perhaps, or obligingly flat?
His very worst foe can't accufe him of that.

:

Perhaps

Perhaps he confided in men as they go,
And fo was too foolishly honeft; ah no!

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

Here Reynolds is laid, and, to tell you my mind,
He has not left a wifer or better behind;

His pencil was ftriking, refiftless 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 averfe, yet moft civilly fteering,

When they judg'd without skill he was still hard of hearing:
When they talk'd of their Raphaels, Corregios, and stuff,
He fhifted his (0) trumpet, and only took fnuff.

Extra& from a MONODY, on the Death of Dr. OLIVER GOLDSMITH.

D

ARK as the night, which now in dunnest robe

Afcends her zenith, o'er the filent globe;
Sad melancholy wakes, awhile to tread,
With folemn ftep, the manfions of the dead:
Led by her hand, o'er this yet recent shrine
I forrowing bend; and here effay to twine
The tributary wreath of laureate bloom,
With artless hands, to deck a poet's tomb;
The tomb where Goldfmith fleeps. Fond hopes, adieu!
No more your airy dreams fhall mock
Here will I learn ambition to controul,
And each afpiring paffion of the foul:
E'en now, methinks, his well known voice I hear,
When late he meditated flight from care,
When as imagination fondly hied

my

view :

To fcenes of fweet retirement, thus he cried.
"Ye fplendid fabricks, palaces, and towers,
"Where diffipation leads the giddy hours,
"Where pomp, disease, and knavery refide,
"And folly bends the knee to wealthy pride;
"Where luxury's purveyors learn to rife,
"And worth, to want a prey, unfriended dies;
"Where warbling Eunuchs glitter in brocade,
"And hapless Poets toil for fcanty bread :
"Farewell! to other fcenes I turn my eyes,
"Embofom'd in the vale where Auburn lies,
"Deferted Auburn, thofe now ruin'd glades,
"Forlorn, yet ever dear and honour'd hades.

RHODES

HOUSE

OXFORD

LIBRARY

(0) Sir Joshua Reynolds is fo remarkably deaf as to be under the neceffity of

ufing an ear trumpet ín company.

"There

"There tho' the Hamlet boafts no fmiling train,
Nor fportful paftime circling on the plain;
"No needy villains proul around for prey,
"No flanderers, no fycophants betray;
"No gaudy foplings fcornfully deride

"The fwain, whofe humble pipe is all his pride.
"There will I fly to feek that foft repose,
"Which folitude contemplative bestows:

"Yet, oh fond hope! perchance there ftill remains
"One lingering friend behind, to bless the plains ;
"Some Hermit of the dale, infhrined in ease,
"Long loft companion of my youthful days;
"With whofe fweet converfe in his focial bower,

. I oft may chide away fome vacant hour;
"To whofe pure fympathy, I may impart
"Each latent grief, that labours at my heart,
"Whate'er I felt, and what I faw, relate,
"The fhoals of luxury, the wrecks of state;
"Those busy scenes, where fcience wakes in vain,
"In which I fhar'd, ah! ne'er to fhare again.
"But whence that pang? does nature now rebel?
"Why faulters out my tongue the word farewell ?
"Ye friends! who long have witness'd to my toil,
"And feen me ploughing in a thankless foil,
"Whose partial tenderness hush'd every pain,
"Whose approbation made my bofom vain :
"'Tis you, to whom my foul divided hies
"With fond regret, and half unwilling flies;
"Sighs forth her parting wishes to the wind,
"And lingering leaves her better half behind.
"Can I forget the intercourse I shar'd

"What friendship cherish'd, and what zeal endear'd ?
"Alas! remembrance ftill muft turn to you,

"And to my latest hour, protract the long adieu.
"Amid the woodlands, wherefoe'er I rove,
"The plain, or fecret covert of the grove,

Imagination fhall fupply her ftore

"Of painful blifs, and what she can restore ;
"Shall strew each lonely path with flowrets gay,
"And wide as is her boundless empire ftray,
"On eagle pinions traverse earth, and skies,
"And bid the loft and distant objects rise.
"Here, where encircled o'er the floping land
"Woods rife on woods, shall Ariftotle stand;

There, fpreading oaks fhall arch the vaulted dome, "The Champion, there, of liberty, and Rome,

"In attick eloquence fhall thunder laws,
"And uncorrupted fenates fhout applause.
"Not more extatic vifions rapt the foul
"Of Numa, when to midnight grots he ftole,
"And learnt his lore, from virtue's mouth refin'd,
"To fetter vice, and harmonize mankind.

*Now stretch'd at ease beside some fav'rite stream,
"Of beauty and enchantment will I dream;
"Elyfium, feats of art, and laurels won,
"The Graces three, and Japhet's fabled fon:
"Whilft Angelo fhall wave the mystic rod,
"And fee a new creation wait his nod;

*

"Prescribe his bounds to Time's remorfeless power,
"And, to my arms, my abfent friends reftore,
"Place me amidst the group, each well-known face,
"The fons of fcience, lords of human race;
"And as oblivion finks at his command,
"Nature fhall rife more finish'd from his hand.
"Thus fome Magician, fraught with potent skill,
"Transforms and moulds each varied mass at will;
"Calls animated forms of wonderous birth,
"Cadmean offspring, from the teeming earth,
"Uncears the ponderous tombs, the realms of night,
"And calls their cold inhabitants to light;
"Or, as he traverfes a dreary scene,

"Bids every fweet of nature there convene,
"Huge mountains fkirted round with wavy woods,
"The fhrub-deckt lawns, and filver-fprinkled floods,
"Whilft flowrets fpring around the fmiling land,
"And follow on the traces of his wand.

"Such profpects, lovely Auburn! then, be thine;
"And what thou canst of blifs impart be mine :
"Amid thy humble fhades, in tranquil ease,
"Grant me to pass the remnant of my days.
"Unfetter'd from the toil of wretched gain,
My raptur'd mufe fhall pour her nobleft ftrain,
Within her native bowers the notes prolong,
And, grateful, meditate her latest fong.
"Thus, as adown the flope of life I bend,
"And move, refign'd, to meet my latter end,
"Each worldly with, each worldly care repreft,
"A felf-approving heart alone poffeft,

"Content, to bounteous heav'n l'll leave the reft.'
Thus fpoke the Bard: but not one friendly power,
With nod affentive crown'd the parting hour,
No eastern meteor glar'd beneath the sky,
No dextral omen; Nature heav'd a figh

Prometheus.

Prophetic