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An't please you," quoth John, "I'm not given to
Nor dare I pretend to know more than my betters; Howe'er from this time I shall ne'er see your graces, As I hope to be saved! without thinking on asses." Edinburgh, 1753.
EPITAPH ON EDWARD PURDON.*
HERE lies poor NED PURDON, from misery freed,
He led such a damnable life in this world,
ON THE GLORY OF HER SEX, MRS. MARY BLAIZE.
GOOD people all, with one accord,
The needy seldom pass'd her door,
She strove the neighbourhood to please
With manners wondrous winning;
Unless when she was sinning
At church, in silks and satins new,
Her love was sought, I do aver,
By twenty beaux and more;
But now her wealth and finery fled,
Let us lament, in sorrow sore,
For Kent-street well may say, That had she lived a twelvemonth more,— She had not died to-day.
This gentleman was educated at Trinity College, Dublin; but having wasted his patrimony, he enlisted as a foot-soldier. Growing tired of that employment, he obtained his discharge, and became a scribbler in the newspapers He translated Voltaire's Henriade.
[Dr. Goldsmith and some of his friends occasionally dine at the St. James's Coffee-house.-One day it was proposed to write epitaphs on him. His country, dialect, and person, furnished subjects of witticism. He was called on for Retaliation, and at their next meeting produced the following poem.]
Or old, when Scarron his companions invited, Each guest brought his dish, and the feast was united;
If our landlord supplies us with beef, and with fish, Let each guest bring himself, and he brings the best dish;
Our Deant shall be venison, just fresh from the plains;
Our Burket shall be tongue, with the garnish of brains;
Our Wills shall be wild-fowl, of excellent flavour, And Dick with his pepper shall heighten the sa
Our Cumberland's sweet-bread its place shall obtain,
And Douglas** is pudding, substantial and plain;
The master of the St. James's Coffee-house, where the doctor, and the friends he has characterized in this poem, occasionally dined.
1 Doctor Bernard, dean of Derry, in Ireland. The Right Hon. Edmund Burke.
§ Mr. William Burke, late secretary to General Conway, and member for Bedwin.
Mr. Richard Burke, collector of Granada.
Mr. Richard Cumberland, author of "The West Indian." "Fashionable Lover," "The Brothers," and various other productions.
**Dr. Douglas, canon of Windsor, (afterwards bishop of Salisbury), an ingenious Scotch gentleman, who no less dis tinguished himself as a citizen of the world, than a sound critic, in detecting several literary mistakes (or rather forgeries) of his countrymen; particularly Lauder on Milton, and Bower's History of the Popes.
it David Garrick. Esq.
#Counsellor John Ridge, a gentleman belonging to the Irish bar.
$$ Sir Joshua Reynolds. II An eminent attorney.
Here lies the good dean,* re-united to earth, Who mix'd reason with pleasure, and wisdom with mirth :
If he had any faults, he has left us in doubt,
We scarcely can praise it, or blame it too much;
A flattering painter, who made it his care
To persuade Tommy Townshend‡ to lend him a Quite sick of pursuing each troublesome elf,
Who, too deep for his hearers, still went on refining,
He grew lazy at last, and drew from himself?
Here Douglas retires from his toils to relax,
And thought of convincing, while they thought of The scourge of impostors, the terror of quacks;
Though equal to all things, for all things unfit,
While the owner ne'er knew half the good that
The pupil of impulse, it forced him along,
Come, all ye quack bards, and ye quacking divines,
When satire and censure encircled his throne,
Macphersont write bombast, and call it a style,
New Lauders and Bowers the Tweed shall cross
No countryman living their tricks to discover
Here lies David Garrick, describe him who can,
Here lies honest Richard, whose fate I must An abridgment of all that was pleasant in man;
Alas, that such frolic should now be so quiet?
As an actor, confest without rival to shine;
That we wish'd him full ten times a-day at old 'Twas only that when he was off, he was acting
But missing his mirth and agreeable vein,
Here Cumberland lies, having acted his parts,
• Doctor Bernard.
+ The Right Hon. Edmund Burke.
Mr. T. Townshend, member for Whitchurch.
Mr. William Burke.
With no reason on earth to go out of his way,
The Rev. Dr. Dodd.
† Dr. Kenrick, who read lectures at the Devil Tavern, under the title of "The School of Shakspeare."
1 Mr. Richard Burke; (vide page 161.) This gentleman having slightly fractured one of his arms and legs at different times, the doctor had rallied him on those accidents, as a kind James Macpherson, Esq. who lately, from the mere furce of retributive justice for breaking his jests upon other people.of his style, wrote down the first poet of all antiquity.
Of praise a mere glutton, he swallow'd what came,
How did Grub-street re-echo the shouts that you
While he was be-Roscius'd, and you were be-
But peace to his spirit wherever it flies,
And Beaumonts and Bens be his Kellys above.
Here Hickey reclines, a most blunt pleasant|
And slander itself must allow him good nature;
Mr. Hugh Kelly, author of False Delicacy, Word to the Wise, Clementina, School for Wives, etc. etc.
↑ Mr. William Woodfall, printer of the Morning Chronicle. The following poems by Mr. Garrick, may in some measure account for the severity exercised by Dr. Goldsmith in respect to that gentleman.
JUPITER AND MERCURY, A FABLE.
Without cause be he pleased, without cause be he cross;
Too courteous, perhaps, or obligingly flat?
Here Reynolds is laid, and to tell you my mind,
When they talk'd of their Raphaels, Corregios,
He shifted his trumpet,* and only took snuff.
After the fourth edition of this poem was printed, the publisher received the following Epitaph on Mr. Whitefoord,t from a friend of the late Doctor Goldsmith.
HERE Whitefoord reclines, and deny it who can,
What pity, alas! that so liberal a mind
Ye newspaper witlings! ye pert scribbling folks!
* Sir Joshua Reynolds was so remarkably deaf, as to be un. der the necessity of using an ear-trumpet in company.
† Mr. Caleb Whitefoord, author of many humorous essays, Mr. W. was so notorious a punster, that Dr. Goldsmith used to say it was impossible to keep him company, without being infected with the itch of punning.
§ Mr. H. S. Woodfall, printer of the Public Advertiser.
Mr. Whitefoord has frequently indulged the town with he morous pieces under those titles in the Public Advertiser.
Merry Whitefoord, farewell! for thy sake I ad- There mangroves spread, and larger than I've seen
That a Scot may have humour, I had almost said
'This debt to thy mem'ry I can not refuse,
Here trees of stately size-and billing turtles in 'em [Balconies Here ill-condition'd oranges abound---
And apples, bitter apples strew the ground:
INTENDED TO HAVE BEEN SUNG IN THE COMEDY OF O, there the people are-best keep my distance:
SHE STOOPS TO CONQUER.*
АH me! when shall I marry me?
Offers to love, but means to deceive me.
Not a look, nor a smile shall my passion discover. She that gives all to the false one pursuing her, Makes but a penitent, and loses a lover.
PROLOGUE TO ZOBEIDE;
WRITTEN BY JOSEPH CRADDOCK, ESQ. ACTED AT THE
Our captain, gentle natives! craves assistance;
His honour is no mercenary trader.
This is his first adventure, lend him aid,
And we may chance to drive a thriving trade.
Equally fit for gallantry and war.
What, no reply to promises so ample?
I'd best step back-and order up a sample.
SPOKEN BY MR. LEE LEWES, IN THE CHARACTER OF
In these bold times, when Learning's sons explore HOLD! Prompter, hold! a word before your non
The distant climates, and the savage shore;
Where are we driven? our reckoning sure is lost!
I'd speak a word or two, to ease my conscience.
[Takes off his mask.
Whence, and what art thou, visionary birth? Nature disowns, and reason scorns thy mirth; In thy black aspect every passion sleeps, The joy that dimples, and the woe that weeps. How hast thou fill'd the scene with all thy brood Of fools pursuing, and of foole pursued! Whose ins and outs no ray of sense discloses, Whose only plot it is to break our noses; Whilst from below the trap-door demons rise, And from above the dangling deities; *SIR-I send you a small production of the late Dr. Gold-And shall I mix in this unhallow'd crew? smith, which has never been published, and which might perhaps have been totally lost, had I not secured it. He intended May rosin'd lightning blast me if I do! it as a song in the character of Miss Hardcastle, in his admi- No-I will act, I'll vindicate the stage: able comedy of "She Stoops to Conquer," but it was left out, Shakspeare himself shall feel my tragic rage. as Mrs. Bulkley, who played the part, did not sing. He sung Off! off! vile trappings! a new passion reigns! it himself in private companies very agreeably. The tune is a The madd'ning monarch revels in my veins. pretty Irish air, called "The Humours of Balamagairy," to which, he told me, he found it very difficult to adapt words; Oh! for a Richard's voice to catch the theme: but he has succeeded very happily in these few lines. As I Give me another horse! bind up my wounds!could sing the tune, and was fond of them, he was so good as to soft-'twas but a dream. give me them, about a year ago, just as I was leaving London, and bidding him adieu for that season, little apprehending that it was a last farewell. I preserve this little relic, in his own hand-writing, with an affectionate care.
I am, Sir, your humble servant,
Ay, 'twas but a dream, for now there's no retreat-
If I cease Harlequin, I cease from eating.
Once on the margin of a fountain stood,
They never have my gratitude nor thanks;
Hoicks! hark forward! came thund'ring from behind,
He bounds aloft, outstrips the fleeting wind:
He quits the woods, and tries the beaten ways;
[Taking a jump through the stage door.
THE LOGICIANS REFUTED,
IN IMITATION OF DEAN SWIFT.
Have strove to prove with great precision,
But for my soul I can not credit 'em;
Who ever knew an honest brute
They eat their meals, and take their sport,
They never to the levee go,
To treat as dearest friend, a foe;
They never importune his grace,
Nor ever cringe to men in place
No judges, fiddlers, dancing-masters,
At court, the porters, lacqueys, waiters,
ON THE TAKING OF QUEBEC.
AMIDST 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
O Wolfe! to thee a streaming flood of woe,
Sighing we pay, and think e'en conquest dear; Quebec in vain shall teach our 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 shall know thou conquerest, though dead! Since from thy tomb a thousand heroes rise.
ON A BEAUTIFUL YOUTH
SURE 'twas by Providence design'd,
A SONNET WEEPING, murmuring, complaining, Lost to every gay delight; Myra, too sincere for feigning,
Fears th' approaching bridal night. Yet why impair thy bright perfection? Or dim thy beauty with a tear? Had Myra follow'd my direction, She long had wanted cause of fear.