YeKenricks(a),yeKellys(b), andWoodfalls(c) fo grave,
Whata commerce was yours, while you got and yougave?
How did Grub-street re-echothe shouts that you rais’d,
While he was be-Roscius'd, and you were beprais’d?
But peace to his fpirit, 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 love,
And Beaumonts and Behns be his Kellys above.

Here Hickey(d) reclines,amoft blunt pleasant creature,
And flander itself mult allow him good-nature;
He cherish'd his friend, and he relish'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 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 ye-
He was--could he help it-a special attorney.

Here Reynolds(e) is laid, and, to tell you my mind,
He has not left a wiser or better behind:
His pencil was striking, 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:

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(a) Vide page 66.
(6) Mr. Hugh Kelly, author of False Delicacy, &c. &c.
(c) Mr. W. Woodfall, printer of the Morning Chronicle.
(d) Vide page 64.

(e) Vide page 64.

To coxcombs averse, yet most civilly steering, Whentheyjudg'd withoutskill,hewas still hard of hearing; When they talk'd of theirRaphaels, Corregios and stuff, He shifted his trumpet(f), and only took snuff.

POSTSCRIPT.
Here Whitefoord reclines, and deny it who can,
Tho' he merrily liv’d(g), he is now a grave man:
Rare compound of oddity, frolic, and fun!
Who relish'd a joke, and rejoic’d in a pun;
Whose temper was generous, open, sincere
A stranger to flatt’ry, a stranger to fear;
Who scatter'd around wit and humour at will;
Whose daily bon mots half a column might fill:
A Scotchman, from pride and from prejudice free-
A scholar, ýet surely no pedant was he.

What pity, alas! that fo liberal a mind
Should so long be to Newspaper Essays confin’d!
Who perhaps to the summit of science could foar,
Yet content “ if the table he set in a roar;"
Whose talents to fill any station was fit,
Yet happy if Woodfall(h) confess’d him a wit.

Ye newspaper witlings! ye pert scribbling folks!
Who copied his fquibs, and re-echo'd his jokes
Ye tame imitators, ye servile herd, come,
Still follow your master, and visit his tomb;

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

(g) Mr. W. was so notorious a punster, that Dr. Gold. smith used to say it was impossible to keep him company without being infected with an itch for punning.

(h) Mr. H. S. Woodfall, printer of the Public Advertiser.

To deck it, bring with you festoons of the vine,
And copious libations bestow on his shrine;
Then strew all around it (you can do no less)
Cross-readings, Ship-news, and Mistakes of the Press.(i)

Merry Whitefoord, farewell!—for thy fake I admit
That a Scot may have humor I had almost said wit:
This debt to thy inem’ry I cannot refuse,
“Thoubesthumor'd man with the worst humor'dmuse.'

(i) Mr. Whitefoord has frequently indulged the town with humorous pieces under those titles in the Public Advertiser

STANZAS
ON THE TAKING OF QUEBEC.

Avidst the clamour of exulting joys,

Which triumph forces from the patriot heart, Grief dares to mingle her soul-piercing voice,

And quells the raptures which from pleasure start. 0, Wolfe! to thee a streaming flood of woe,

Sighing, we pay, and think even conquest dearQuebec in vain Mall teach the breast to glow,

Whilst thy sad fate extorts the heart-wrung tear. Alive, the foe thy dreadful vigour fled,

And saw thee fall with joy-pronouncing eyes; Yet they Mall know thou conquerest, though dead!

Since from thy tomb a thousand heroes rise.

THE HAUNCH OF VENISON.

A POETICAL EPISTLE-TO LORD CLARE.

Thanks,my Lord, for your venison--for finerorfatter Never rang'd in a forest, or smoak’d in a platter : The haunch was a picture for painters to study, The fat was so white, and the lean was so ruddy ; Tho’my stomach was sharp, Icould scarce helpregretting To spoil such a delicate picture by eating: I had thoughts, in my chambers, to place it in view, To be Thewn to my friends as a piece of virtuAs in some Irish houses, where things are so so, One gammon of bacon hangs up for a show; But, for eating a ralher of what they take pride in, They'd as soon think of eating the pan it is fry'd in. But hold—let me pause-don't I hear you pronounce This tale of the bacon's a damnable bounce; Well, suppose it a bounce—sure a poet may try, By a bounce now and then, to get courage to fly.

But, my lord, it's no bounce-I protest, in my turn, It's a truth—and your Lordship may ask Mr. Burn.* To go on with my tale-as I gaz'd on the haunch, I thought of a friend that was trusty and staunch So.I cut it, and sent it to Reynolds undrest, To paint it, or eat it, just as he lik'd best. Of the neck and the breast I had next to dispose 'Twas a neck and a breast that might rival Monroe's;

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* Lord Clase's nephew.

But in parting with these, I was puzzled again,
With the how,and the who,and the where,and the when.
There's Hd, and C-y,and H~rth, and H-ff,
I think they love venison—I know they love beef:
There's my countryman Higgins Oh, let him alone
For making a blunder, or picking a bone.
But hang it—to poets, who seldom can eat,
Your very good mutton's a very good treat ;
Such dainties to them, their health it might hurt-
It's like sending them ruffles, when wanting a shirt.
While thus I debated, in reverie center'd,
An acquaintance, a friend as he callid himself, enter'd;
An under-bred, fine-spoken fellow was he,
And he smil'd as he look'd at the venison and me.
“ What have we got here?--Why, this is good eating;
“ Your own, I suppose or is it in waiting?"
" Why, whose should it be?”-cry'd I, with a flounce;

these things often”—but that was a bounce : “ Some lords, my acquaintance, that settle the nation, “ Are pleas’d to be kind—but I hate ostentation." " If that be the case then,” cry'd he, very gay, “ I'm glad I have taken this house in my way; “ To-morrow you take a poor dinner with me; “ No words-I insist on't-precisely at three: “We'll have Jolinfon,and Burke,allthe wits will be there; “ My acquaintance is slight, or I'd ask my Lord Clare. “ And, now that I think on't, as I am a sinner, “ We wanted this venison to make out a dinner. “ What say you—a pasty—it shall, and it must; “ And my wife, little Kitty, is famous for cruit. “ Here, porter, this venison with me to Mile-end; * No stirring, I beg--my dear friend-my dear friend!"

I get