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! Now wrangling and grumbling to keep up the ball, Now teasing 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!

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 giving 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 quacking Divines! Come, and dance on the spot where your tyrant reclines! Where Satire and Censure encircled his throne, I feared for your safety! I feared for my own!

But now he is gone, and we want a detector; Our DODDS shall be pious! our KENRICKS shall lecture! 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;

And Scotchman meet Scotchman, and cheat in the dark!

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; Forheknew, 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,
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;
When he was be-Rosciused, and you were bepraised!
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!

Old SHAKESPEARE receive him with praise and with And BEAUMONTS and BENS be his KELLYS abov

Here HICKEY reclines, a most blunt, pleasant crea And Slander itself must allow him good-nature He cherished his friend, and he relished a bum 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!' 'Then what was his failing? Come, tell it, and burn 'He was (could he help it?) a Special Attorney

Here REYNOLDS is laid; and, to tell you my min He has not left a better or wiser 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 hearing!

[st

While they talked of their RAPHAELS, CORREGGIOS, He shifted his trumpet, and only took snuff!

WHA wadna fight for CHARLIE ?
Wha wadna draw the sword?
Wha wadna up and rally,

At their royal Prince's word?
Think on Scotia's ancient heroes!
Think on foreign foes repelled!
Think on glorious BRUCE and Wallace,
Wha the proud usurpers quelled!

Wha wadna fight for CHARLIE? &c. Rouse, rouse, ye kilted warriors! Rouse, ye heroes of the North! Rouse, and join your Chieftain's banners! 'Tis your Prince, that leads you forth!

Wha wadna fight for CHARLIE? &c. Shall we basely crouch to tyrants? Shall we own a foreign sway? Shall a royal STUART be banished, While a stranger rules the day?

Wha wadna fight for CHARLIE? &c. See the northern Clans advancing! See GLENGARRY and LoCHIEL

See the brandished broadswords glancing! Highland hearts are true as steel!