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Around the world each needful product flies: Those matted woods where birds forget to sing, For all the luxuries the world supplies:

But silent bats in drowsy clusters cling; While thus the land, adorn'd for pleasure all, Those pois'nous fields with rank luxurianc: In barren splendour feebly waits the fall.

crown'd, As some fair female, unadorn'd and plain, Where the dark scorpion gathers death around: Secure to please while youth confirms her reign, Where at each step the stranger fears to wake Slights ev'ry borrow'd charm that dress supplies, The rattling terrours of the vengeful snake; Nor shares with art the triumph of her eyes; Where crouching tigers wait their bapless prey, But when those charms are past, for charms are And savage men more murd'rous still than they: When time advances, and when lovers fail, (frail, While oft in whirls the mad tornado flies, She then shines forth, solicitous to bless,

Mingling the ravag'd landscape with the skies, In all the glaring impotence of dress :

Far diff'rent these from ev'ry former scene, Thus fares the land, by luxury betray'd,

The cooling brook, the grassy-vested green, In nature's simplest charms at first array'd; The breezy covert of the warbling grove, But verging to decline, its splendours rise, That only shelter'd thefts of harmless lore. Its vistas strike, its palaces surprise ;

Good Heav'n! what sorrows gloom'd that partWhile, scourg'd by famine, from the smiling land

ing day, The mournful peasant leads his humble band; That call’d them from their native walks away; And while he sinks, without one arm to save, When the poor exiles, ev'ry pleasure past, The country bloomsma garden and a grave ! Hung round the bow'rs, and fondly look”d their Where, then, ah! where shall poverty reside,

last, To 'scape the pressure of contiguous pride? And took a long farewell, and wish'd in vain If to some common's fenceless limits stray'd, For seats like these beyond the westem inain; He drives his flock to pick the scanty blade, And, shudd'ring still to face the distant deep, Those fenceless fields the sons of wealth divide, Return'd and wept, and still return'd to weep. And e'en the bare-worn common is deny'd. The good old sire the first prepard to go

If to the city sped-What waits him there? To new-found worlds, and wept for others' Foe; To see profusion that he must not share; But for himself, in conscious virtue brave, To see ten thousand baneful arts combin'd He only wish'd for worlds beyond the grave, To pamper luxury, and thin mankind;

His lovely daughter, lovelier in her tears, To see each joy the sons of pleasure know, The fund companion of his helpless years, Extorted from his fellow-creature's woe.

Silent went next, neglectful of her charms, Here, while the courtier glitters in brocade, And left a lover's for her father's arms. There the pale artist plies the sickly trade; With louder plaints the mother spoke her woes, Here, while the proud their long-drawn pomp And bless'd the cot where ev'ry pleasure ruse; display,

And kiss'd her thoughtless babes with many a There the black gibbet glooms beside the way;

tear, The dome where pleasure holds her midnight and clasp'd them close, in sorrow doubly dear; reign,

Whilst her fond husband strove to lend relief Here, richly deck's, admits the gorgeous train; In all the silent manliness of grief. Tumultuous grandeur crowds the blazing square, O Luxury! thou curs'd by hear'n's decree, The rattling chariots clash, the torches glare. How ill exchang'd are things like these for thee! Sure scenes like these no troubles e'er annoy! How do thy potions, with insidious joy, Sure these denote one universal joy! [eyes Diffuse their pleasures oply to destroy! Are these thy serious thoughts?-Ah, turn thine Kingdoms by thee, to sickly greatness grown, Where the poor houseless shiv’ring female lies: Boast of a florid vigour not their own : She, once perhaps, in village plenty blest, At ev'ry draught more large and large they grow, Has wept at tales of innocence distrest;

A bloated mass of rank unwieldly woe ; Her modest looks the cottage might adorn, Till sapp'd their strength, and ev'ry part unSweet as the primrose pee ps beneath the thorn;

sound, Now lost to all; her friends, her virtue, fled, Down, down they sink, and spread a ruin round. Near ber betrayer's door she lays her head, E'en now the devastation is begun, And, pinch'd with cold, and shrinking from the And half the bus'ness of destruction done; show'r,

E'en now, methinks, as pond'ring here I stand, With heavy heart deplores that luckless hour, I see the rural virtues leave the land, [sail, When idly first, ambitious of the town,

Down where yon anch'ring vessel spreads the She left her wheel and robes of country brown. That idly waiting flaps with ev'ry gale,

Do thine, sweet Auburn, thine, the loveliest | Downward they move, a melancholy band, Do thy fair tribes participate her pain? (train, l'ass from the shore, and darken all the strand E'en now, perhaps, by cold and hunger led, Contented toil, and hospitable care, At proud men's doors they ask a little bread! And kind connubial tenderness, are there;

Ah, no. To distant climes, a dreary scene, And piety with wishes plac'd above, Where half the convex world intrudes boten, And steady loyalty, and faithful love. Through torrid tracts with fainting steps they go, And thou, sweet Poetry, thou loveliest maid, Where wild Altama murmurs to their woe. Still first to fy where sensual juys invade! Far diff'rent there from all that charm'd before, Unfit, in these degen’rate times of shame, The various terrours of that horrid shore; To catch the heart, or strike for honest fame, Those blazing suns that dart 'a downward ray, Dear charming nymph, neglected and decry'd, And fiercely shed intolerable day;

My shame in crowds, my solitary pride;

Thou source of all my bliss, and all my woe, While thus I debated, in reverie center'd, That found'st me poor at first, and keep'st me so; An acquaintance, a friend as he called himself, Thou guide, by which the nobler arts excel,

enter'd ; Thou ourse of ev'ry virtue, fare thee well; An under-bred, fine-spoken fellow was he, Farewell ! and O! where'er thy voice be try'd, And he smild as he look'd at the ven'son and me, On Torno's cliffs, or Pambamarca's side,

“What' have we got here ? Why this is good Whether where equinoctial fervours glow,

eating ! On winter wraps the polar world in snow,

Your own, I suppose-or is it in waiting ?” Still let thy voice, prevailing over time,

“Why whose should it be?" cry'd I with a Redress the rigours of th' inclement clime;


[bounce: Aid slighted truth, with thy persuasive strain, I get these things often”—but that was a Teach erring man to spurn the rage of gain; Some lords, my acquaintance, that settle the Teach him, that states of native strength possest,

nation, Though very poor, may still be very blest; Are pleas'd to be kind-but I hate ostentation." That trade's proud empire hastes to swift decay, " If that be the case then,"cry'd he, very As ocean sweeps the labour'd mole away ;

gay, While self-dependent pow'r can time defy, " I'm glad I have taken this house in my way. As rocks resist the billows and the sky.

To morrow you take a poor dinner with me;
No words--I insist on't-precisely at three :
We'll have Johnson and Burke; all the wits will
be there ;


My acquaintance is slight, or I'd ask my lord A POETICAL EPISTLE TO LORD CLARE. And, now that I think on't, as I am sinner!

We wanted this ven'son to make out a dinner. FIRST PRINTED IN THE YEAR 1765.

What say youa pasty ; it shall, and it must,

And my wife, little Kitty, is famous for crust. 'Thanks, my lord, for your venison, for finer or fatter

Here, porter—this ven’son with me to Mile-end ; Ne'er rang'd in a forest, or smok'd in a platter ;

No stirring, I beg--my dear friend—my dear The haunch was a picture for painters to study: Thussnatching his bat, he brush'd off like the wind,

friend !" "The fat was so white, and the lean was so ruddy; And the porter and eatables follow'd behind. Though my stomach was sharp, I could scarce

Left alone to reflect, having emptied my shelf, help regretting

And “ nobody with me at sea but myself ? ;." To spoil such a delicate picture by eating : I had thoughts, in my chamber, to place it in | Tho' I could not help thinking my gentleman view,


(pasty, To be shown to my friends as a piece of virtû:

Yet Johnson, and Burke, and a good venison

Were things that I never dislik'd in my life, As in some Irish houses, where things are so so, One gammon of bacon hangs up for a show ;

Tho'clogg'd with a coxcomb, and Kitty his wife. But, for eating a rasher of what they take pride in, I drove to his door in my own

So next day in due splendour to make my approach, They'd as soon think of eating the pan it is fryd, in.

When come to the place where we all were to But hold—let me pause_don't I hear you pro- (A chair-lumber'd closet just twelve feet by nine)

dine, This tale of the bacon's a damnable bounce;

My friend bade me welcome, but struck me quite dumb

[come; Well, suppose it a bounce--sure a poet may try,

With tidings that Johnson and Burke would not By a bounce now and then, to get courage to fly. But, my lord, it's no bounce : 1 protest, in my The one with his speeches, and tother with Thrale.

“For I knew it,” he cried, “ both eternally fail, turn, It's a truth, and your lordship may ask Mr. Burn'. But no matter, I'll warrant we'll make up the 'To go on with my tale--as I gaz’d on the haunch: With two full as clever, and ten times as hearty;

party, I thought of a friend that was trusty and staunch ; The one is a Scotchman, the other

a Jew, (you; So I cut it, and sent it to Reynolds undrest, To paint it, or eat it, just as he lik'd best :

They're both of them merry, and authors like of the neck and the breast I had next to dispose : Some think he writes Cinna—heowns to Panurge.”

The one writes the Snarler, the other the Scourge ; Tras a neck and a breast that might rival Mon- While thus he describ'd them by trade and by

roe's: But in parting with these I was puzzled again,

name, With the how, and the who, and the where, and they enter'd, and dinner was serv'd as they came. the when.


At the top a fried liver and bacon were seen, There's H-d, and C-y, and H-rth, and at the bottom was tripe in a swinging tureen ; I think they love ven’son-i know they love beef. At the sides there were spimage and pudding

mnade hot! There's my countryman Higgins-Oh ! let him For making a blunder, or picking a bone.Calone, In the middle a place where the pasty—was not. But hang it-to poets who seldom can eat,

Now, my lord, as for tripe, it's my utter aversion,

And your bacon I hate like a 'Turk or a Persian; Your very good mutton's a very good treat; Such daiuties to them their health it may hurt,

See the letters that passed between his royal It's like sending them rumes, when wanting a shirt.

highness Henry duke of Cumberland, and

lady Grosvenor-120 , 1760. I Lord Clare's nephew. VOL. XVI.

K k








So there I sat stuck like a horse in a pound, Our dean 3 shall be ven'son, just fresh from the While the bacon and liver went merrily round :

plains ;

(braits But what vex'd me most, was that d-'d Scottish Our Burke 3 shall be tongue, with the gardish se rogue,

[his brogue: Our Will shall be wild fowl, of excellent flavour, With his long-winded speeches, his smiles, and And Dick 5 with his pepper shall heighten the saAnd, “ Madam," quoth he, “ may this bit be

vour: A prettier dinner I never set eyes on ;(my poison, Our Cumberland's 6 sweet-bread its place shal Pray a slice of your liver, tho' may I be curst

obtain; But I've eat of your tripe till I'm ready to burst.” And Douglass ? is pudding, substantial and plain: “The tripe, quoth the Jew, with his chocolate Our Garrick’s 8 a sallad; for in him we see cheek,

Oil, vinegar, sugar, and saltness agree : “ I could dine on this tripe seven days in a week : To make out the dinner, full certain I am I like these here dinners so pretty and small; That Ridge' is anchovy,and Reynolds "js lamlı

; But your friend there, the doctor, eats nothing at That Hickey's ll a capon; and, by the same rule,

{a trice, Magnanimous Goldsmith, a gooseberry fool si (ho!" quoth my friend," he'll come on in At a dinner su various, at such a repast, He's keeping a corner for something that's nice: Who'd not be a glutton, and stick to the last? There's a pasty"-"A pasty !" repeated the Jew; Here, waiter, more wine, let me sit while l's “I dont care if I keep a corner for't too."

able, “ What the de'il mon, a pasty !" re-echo'd the Till all my companions sink under the table; Scot;

(that.” Then, with chaos and blunders encircling my “ Though splitting, I'll still keep a corner for

head, “ We'll all keep a corner," the lady cried out; Let me ponder, and tell what I think of the dead “ We'll all keep a corner," was echo'd about. Here lies the good dean, re-united to earth, While thus we resolv’d, and the pasty delay'd, Who mix'd reason with pleasure, and wisdorn With looks that quite petrified, enter'd the maid;

with mirth: A visage so sad, and so pale with afright, If he had any faults, he has left us in dombt, Wakid Priam in drawing his curtains by night. At least in six weeks I could not find them out; But we quickly found out (for who could mistake Yet some have declar'd, and it can't be denied her?)


'em, That she came with some terrible news from the That sly-boots was cursedly cunning to hide 'en. And so it fell out, for that negligent sloven Here lies our good Edmund, whose geuius Fas Had shut out the pasty on shutting his oven.

such, Sad Philomel thus-but let similes drop

We scarcely can praise it, or blame it too much; And now that I think on't the story may stop. Who, born for the universe, narrow'd his mind, To be plain, my good lord, it's but labour mis- And to party gave up what was meant for maeplac'd,


(his throat To send such good verses to one of your taste. Though fraught with all learning, yet straining You've got an odd something a kind of discern. To persuade Tommy Townshend ia to lend him a ing


(finir, A relish-a taste-sicken'd over by learning ; Who, too deep for his hearers, still went on re At least it's your temper, as very well known, And thought of convincing, while they thoughi That you think very slightly of all that's your

of dining;

'Though equal to all things, for all things unfit; So, perhaps, in your habits of thinking amiss, Too nice for a statesman, too proud for a wit; You may make a mistake, and think slightly of this.

where the doctor, and the friends he has charac. terised in this poem, occasionally dined.

• Dr. Barnard, dean of Derry in Ireland. RETALIATIO.V.

3. Mr. Edmund Burke. A POEM.

* Mr. William Burke, late secretary to gee

neral Conway, and member for Bedwin. FIRST PRINTED IN THE YEAR 1774,

s Mr. Richard Burke, collector of Grenada. AFTER THE AUTHOR'S DEATH.

6 Mr. Richard Cumberland, author of the West Dr. Goldsmith and some of his friends occa.

Indian, Fashionable Lover, The Brothers, and

other dramatic pieces. sionally dined at the St. James's coitie-honse. One day it was proposed to write epitaphs on him.

· Dr. Douglas, the late bishop of Salisbury, His country, dialect, and person, furnished sub

who has no less distinguished himself as a citizen jects of witticism. He was called on for Retalia

of the world, than a suund critic, in detecting tion, and at their next meeting produced the fol several literary mistakes (or rather forgeries) of lowing poem.

his countrymen ; particularly Lauder op Milton,

and Bower's History of the Popes. Or old, when Scarron his companions invited, & David Garrick, esq. Each guest brought his dish, and the feast was

9 Connsellor John Ridge, a gentleman belongo united.

(fish, ing to the Irish bar. If our landlord supplies us with beef and with io Sir Joshua Reynolds. Let each guest bring himself, and he brings the " An eminent attorney. best disb :

13 Mr.T.Townshead, member for Whitchurch I The master of St. James's coffee-house

Own :

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499 For a patriot too cool; for a drudge disobedient; | Macpherson 16 write bombast, and call it a style; And too fond of the right to pursue the expe- Our Townshend make speeches, and I shall dient.


(over, In short, 'twas his fate, unemploy'd, or in place, New Lauders and Bowers the Tweed shall cross To eat mutton cold, and cut blocks with a razor. No countryman living their tricks to discover; Here lies honest William, whose heart was a Detection her taper shall quench oa spark, mint,

(was in't; And Scotchman meet Scotchmangnicheat in the While the owner ne'er knew half the good that

dark. The pupil of impulse, it forc'd him along,

Here lies David Garrick, describe him who His conduct still right, with his argument wrong; Still aiming at honour, yet fearing to roam,

An abridgement of all that was pleasant in man : The coachman was tipsy, the chariot drove As an actor, confest without rival to shine, home;

(none; As a wit, if not first, in the very first line ! Would you ask for bis merits ? alas! he had | Yet, with talents like these, and an excellent What was good was spuntaneous, his faults were

heart, his own.

The man had his failings-a dupe to his art. Here lies honest Richard 13, whose fate I must Like an ill-judging beauty, his colours he spread, sigh at;

And beplaster'd with rouge his own natural Alas! that such frolic should now be so quiet :

red. What spirits were his! what wit and what wbim, On the stage he was natural, simple, affecting ; Now breaking a jest, and now breaking a limb! 'Twas only that when he was off he was acting. Now wrangling and grumbling to keep up the With no reason on earth to go out of his way, ball!

He turn d and he varied full ten times a day: Now teasing and vexing, yet laughing at all! Though secure of our hearts, yet confoundedly

sick In short, so provoking a devil was Dick, That we wish'd him full ten times a day at old If they were not his own by finessing and trick: Nick;

He cast of his friends, as a huntsman his pack, But, missing his nuirth and agreeable vein, For he knew when he pleas'd he could whistle As often we wish'd to have Dick back again.

them back. Here Cumberland lies, having acted his parts, Of praise a mere glutton, he swallow'd what came, The Terence of England, the mender of hearts; And the puff of a dunce he mistook it for fame; A fatt'ring painter, who made it his care

Till his relish grown callous, almost to disease, To draw men as they ought to be, not as they are.

Who pepper'd the highest was surest to please. His gallants are all faultless, his women divine,

But let us be candid, and speak out our mind, And Comedy wonders at being so fine:

If dunces applauded, he paid them in kind. Like a tragedy queen he has dizen'd her out,

Ye Kenricks, ye Kellys,'? and Woodfalls'' Or rather like Tragedy giving a rout,


(you gave! His fools have their follies so lost in a crow'd

What a commerce was your's, while you got and Of virtues and feelings, that folly grows proud;

How did Grub-street re-echo the shouts that you And coxcombs, alike in their failings, alove,


[prais'd! Adopting his portraits, are pleas'd with their

While he was be-Roscius'd, and you were be

But peace to his spirit, wherever it fies, Say, where has our poet this malady caught?

To act as an angel and inix with the skies: Or wherefore his characters thus without fault?

Those poets who owe their best fame to his skill
Sag, was it that vainly directing his view

Shall still be his flatterers, go where he will:
To find out men's virtues, and finding them few, Old Shakespeare receive him with praise and
Quite sick of pursuing each troublesome elf,

with love,
He grew lazy at last, and drew from himself. And Beaumonts and Bens be his Kellys above.
Here Douglas retires from his toi!s to relax,

Here Hickey reclines, a most blunt pleasant The scourge of impostures, the terror of quacks :

creature, Come, all ye quack bards, and ye quacking di

And slander itself must allow him good-nature: vipes,


He cherish'd his friend, and he relish'd a bumper; Come, and dance on the spot where your tyrant

Yet one fault he had, and that one was a When satire and censure encircled his throne;

thumper. I fear'd for your safety, I feard for my own:

Perhaps you may ask if the man was a miser? But now he is gone, and we want a detector,

I answer, uo, no, for he always was wiser: Our Dodds 14 shall be pious, our Kenricks is shall

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!
13 Mr. Richard Burke. This gentleman hap-
ing slightly fractured one of his arms and legs, 16 james Macpherson, esq. who lately, from
at different times, the doctor has rallied him on

the mere force of his style, wrote down ihe first those accidents, as a kind of retributive justice for breaking his jests upon other people.

poet of all antiquity.

17 Mr. Hugh Kelly, author of False Delicacy, 14 The rev. Dr. Dodd.

Word to the Wise, Clementina, School for Wives, is Dr. Kenrick, who read lectures at the Devil

&c. &c. tavern, under the title of The School of Shake.

18 Mr. W. Woodfall, printer of the Morning speare.




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Then what was his failing ? come, tell it, and | This debt to thy mem'ry I cannot refuse, barn ye,

“ Thou best humour'd man with the worst hu. He was, could he belp it ? a special attorney.

mour'd muse." Here Reynolds is laid, and, to tell you my

mind, He has not left a wiser or better bebind :

To this Postscript the reader may not be disHis pencil was striking, resistless, and grand; pleased to find added the following His manners were gentle, complying, and bland; Still born to improve us in every part,

POETICAL EPISTLE TO DR. GOLDSMITH, OR, His pencil our faces, his manners our heart :

SUPPLEMENT TO HIS RETALIATION. To coxcombs averse, yet most civally steering,

(FROM THE GENTLEMAN'S MAGAZINE Fog AlWheu they judg'd without skill he was still hard of bearing ; (and stuff,

GUST 1778.] When they talk'd of their Raphaels, Corregios, Doctor, according to our wisbes, He shifted his trumpet '9, and only took snuff. You've character'd us all in dishes;

Serv'd up a sentimental treat

Of various emblematic meat:

And now it's time, I trust, yon'll think
After the fourth edition of this poem was print - Your company should have some drink:

ed, the publisher received the following epi- Else, take my word for it, at least
taph on Mr. Whitefoord ', from a friend of Your Irish friends won't like your feast.
the late Dr. Goldsmith.

Ring, then, and see that there is placd
Here Whitefjord reclines, and deny it who can,

To each according to his taste. Though he merrily liv'd, he is now a grave of critic lore, give ancient hock;

To Douglas, fraught with learned stock Rare compound of oddity, frolic, anë fun!

Let it be genuine, bright, and fine, Who relish'd a joke, and rejoic'd in a pun 2;

Pure unadulterated wine;

For if there's fault in taste, or odour,
Whose temper was generous, open, sincere;

He'll search it, as he search'd out Lauder.
A stranger to fatt’ry, a stranger to fear;
Who scatter'd around wit and humour at will;

To Johnson, pbilosophic sage,
Whose daily bon mots half a column might fill: Religion's friend, with soul sincere,

The moral Mentor of the age,
A Scotchman, from pride and from prejudice with melting heart, but look austere,
A scholar, yet surely no pedant was he.

Give liquor of an honest sort,
What pity, alas ! that so lib'ral a mind

And crown his cup with priestly port. Should so long be to newspaper essays confin'd !

Now fill the glass with gay champagne, Who perhaps to the suminit of science could And frisk it in a livelier strain;

Quick, quick, the sparkling nectar quaff, soar, Yet content " if the table he set in a roar;"

Drink it, dear Garrick !--drink and laugh! Whose talents to fill any station were fit,

Pour forth to Reynolds, without stint, Yet happy if Woodfall confess'd him a wit,

Rich burgundy, of ruby tint; Ye newspaper witlings, ye pert scribbling if e'er his colours chance to fade, folks!

This brilliant hue shall come in aid,
Who copied his squibs, and re-echo'd his jokes; And warm the bosoms of the Graces.

With ruddy light refresh the faces,
Ye tame imitators, ye servile herd, come,
Still follow your master, and visit his tomb:

To Burke a pure libation bring,
To deck it, bring with you festoons of the vine,

Fresh drawn from clear Castalian spring : And copious libations bestow on his shrine ;

With civic oak the goblet biod, 'Then strew all around it (you can do no less)

Fit emblem of his patriot mind;

Let Clio at his table sip, Cross-readings, ship-news, and mistakes of the

And Hermes hand it to his lip. press 4 Merry Whitefoord, farewell ! for thy sake 1

Fill out my friend, the Dean' of Derry, admit


A bumber of conventual sherry! That a Scot may have humour, I had almost said

Give Ridge, and Hickey, generous soals."

Of whiskey punch convivial bowls ; 19 Sir Joshua Reynolds was so remarkably But let the kindred Burkes regale deaf as to be under the necessity of using an ear- With potent draughts of Wicklow ale ! trumpet in company.

To C*****k next in order turn ye, 1 Mr. Caleb Whitefoord, author of many hu- And grace him with the vines of Ferney! morous essays.

Now, doctor, you're an honest sticker, * Mr. W. was so notorious a punster, that So take your glass, and chuse your liquors Dr. Goldsmith used to say it was impossible to

Wilt have it steep'd in Alpine snows, keep him company, without being infected with Or damask'd at Silenus' nose? the itch of purring.

With Wakefield's vicar sip your tea 3 Mr. H. S. Woodfall, printer of the Public Or to Thalia drink with me? Advertiser.

And, doctor, I would have you know it, 4 Mr. Whitefoord has frequently indulged the An honest, I, though humble poet; town with humorous pieces ugder those titles in the Public Advertiser,

| Dr. Barnard.


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