60

And "nobody with me at sea but myself; Though I could not help thinking my gentleman hasty,

Yet Johnson, and Burke, and a good venison pasty, Were things that I never disliked in my life,

Though clogged with a coxcomb, and Kitty his

wife.

So next day, in due splendour to make my approach, I drove to his door in my own hackney coach.

When come to the place where we all were to dine, (A chair-lumbered closet just twelve feet by nine:) My friend bade me welcome, but struck me quite dumb,

With tidings that Johnson and Burke would not

come;

"For I knew it," he cried, "both eternally fail,

k

70

m

The one with his speeches, and t'other with Thrale;
But no matter, I'll warrant we'll make up the party,'
With two full as clever, and ten times as hearty.
The one is a Scotchman, the other a Jew,
They're both of them merry, and authors like you;
The one writes the Snarler, the other the Scourge;
Some think he writes Cinna-he owns to Panurge."
While thus he described them by trade and by name,
They entered, and dinner was served as they came. 80

See the letters that passed between his Royal Highness Henry Duke of Cumberland, and Lady Grosvenor-12mo, 1769.

i could

k

VARIATIONS.

at the house,

1 But, I warrant for me, we shall make up the party. m Who dabble and write in the papers-like you.

At the top a fried liver and bacon were seen, At the bottom was tripe, in a swingeing tureen; At the sides there was spinage and pudding made hot;

In the middle a place where the pasty"—was not. Now, my lord, as for tripe, its my utter aversion, And your bacon I hate like a Turk or a Persian; So there I sat stuck, like a horse in a pound, While the bacon and liver went merrily round: But what vexed me most was that d-d Scottish

rogue,

With his long-winded speeches, his smiles and his

brogue,

9.0

And, "Madam," quoth he, "may this bit be my poison, A prettier dinner I never set eyes on;

Pray a slice of your liver, though may I be curst, But I've eat of your tripe till I'm ready to burst ;" "The tripe," quoth the Jew, with his chocolate

cheek,P

"I could dine on 9 this tripe seven days in the week: I like these here dinners so pretty and small; But your friend there, the Doctor, eats nothing at all."

"O-oh!" quoth my friend, "he'll come on in a trice, He's keeping a corner for something that's nice: 100 "There's a pasty". 'a pasty!" repeated the Jew,

66

"I dont care if I keep a corner for't too."

"What the de'il, mon, a pasty!" re-echoed the Scot,

n venison

VARIATIONS.

• If a prettier dinner I ever set eyes on!

p"Your tripe!" quoth the Jew, "if the truth I may speak.

q eat of

"Though splitting, I'll still keep a corner for that." "We'll all keep a corner," the lady cried out; "We'll all keep a corner," was echoed about. While thus we resolved, and the pasty delayed, With looks that quite petrified, entered the maid; A visage so sad, and so pale with affright, Waked Priam in drawing his curtains by night. But we quickly found out, for who could mistake

her?

109

That she came with some terrible news from the

baker:

And so it fell out, for that negligent sloven
Had shut out the pasty on shutting his oven.
Sad Philomel thus-but let similes drop-
And now that I think on't, the story may stop.
To be plain, my good lord, it's but labour misplaced,
To send such good verses to one of your taste;
You've got an odd something-a kind of dis-

cerning

A relish a taste-sickened over by learning; 120
At least, it's your temper, as very well known,
That you think very slightly of all that's your own:
So, perhaps, in your habits of thinking amiss,
You may make a mistake, and think slightly of this.

VARIATIONS.

r"There's a pasty." "A pasty!" returned the Scot; "I dont care if I keep a corner for thot."

s looks quite astonishing

too soon we

RETALIATION.

A POEM.

PRINTED FOR G. KEARSLY, AT No. 46 IN FLEET STREET.

MDCCLXXIV.

4To.

The following authentic account of the origin of this poem was given for the first time by Mr. Peter Cunningham, in his edition of Goldsmith's Works, from a MS. in Garrick's handwriting, in the possession of Mr. George Daniel :

"At a meeting of a company of gentlemen, who were well known to each other, and diverting themselves, among many other things, with the peculiar oddities of Dr. Goldsmith, the Dr. with great eagerness insisted upon trying his epigrammatic powers with Mr. Garrick, and each of them was to write the other's epitaph. Mr. Garrick immediately said that his epitaph was finished, and spoke the following distich extempore:

'Here lies Nolly Goldsmith, for shortness called Noll,

Who wrote like an angel, but talked like poor Poll.' Goldsmith, upon the company's laughing very heartily, grew very thoughtful, and either would not, or could not, write anything at that time; however, he went to work, and some weeks after produced the following printed poem, called Retaliation."

This, the last work of Goldsmith, did not appear till after his death, being published on 18th April, 1774.