The pupil of impulse, it forc'd 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,
17 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 wish'd him full ten times a day at old nick;
But, missing his mirth and agreeable vein,
As often we wish'd to have Dick back again.

Here 18 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.

1 Mr. Richard Burke; vide page 63. This gentleman having slightly fractured one of his arms and legs, at different times, the doctor has rallied him on those accidents, as a kind of retributive justice for breaking his jests upon other people.

18 Vide p. 63.

His gallants are all faultless, his women divine,
And comedy wonders at being so fine;

Like a tragedy queen he has dizen'd 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 pleas'd 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 19 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:

When satire and censure encircled his throne,
I fear'd for your safety, I fear'd for my own;
But now he is gone, and we want a detector,
Our 20 Dodds shall be pious, our 21 Kenricks shall
lecture;

19 Vide page 64.

20 The Rev. Dr. Dodd.

21 Dr. Kenrick, who read lectures at the Devil Tavern, under the title of The School of Shakespeare.'

22 Macpherson write bombast, and call it a style, Our 23 Townshend make speeches, and I shall com[over,

pile;

New 24 Lauders and Bowers the Tweed shall cross No countryman living their tricks to discover; Detection her taper shall quench to a spark,

25 And Scotchman meet Scotchman, and cheat in the dark.

Here lies 26 David Garrick, describe me who can, An abridgment of all that was pleasant in man; As an actor, confest 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 beplaster'd 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 turn'd 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, For he knew when he pleas'd he could whistle them back.

22 James Macpherson, Esq. who lately, from the mere force of his style, wrote down the first poet of all antiquity. 23 Vide page 65. 24 Vide page 64. 25 And gods meet gods, and jostle in the dark.'

See Farquhar's Love in a Bottle, vol. i. p. 150. 26 Vide page 64.

Of praise a mere glutton, he swallow'd what came
And the puff of a dunce he mistook it for fame:
Till his relish grown callous, almost to disease,
Who pepper'd 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 27 Kenricks, ye 28 Kellys, and 29 Woodfalls so
grave,
[you gave?

What a commerce was yours, while you got and How did Grub-street reecho the shouts that you rais'd,

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

And Beaumonts and Bens be his Kellys above.30

27 Vide page 67.

28 Mr. Hugh Kelly, author of False Delicacy,'' Word to the Wise,'' Clementina,'' School for Wives,' &c. &c. 29 Mr. William Woodfall, printer of the Morning Chronicle.

30 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.

Here, Hermes, says Jove, who with nectar was mellow, Go fetch me some clay-I will make an odd fellow; Right and wrong shall be jumbled,-much gold and some dross;

Here 31 Hickey reclines, a most blunt, pleasant

creature,

And slander itself must 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:

Without cause be he pleas'd, without cause be he cross:
Be sure, as I work, to throw in contradictions,

A great love of truth, yet a mind turn'd to fictions!
Now mix these ingredients, which warm'd in the baking,
Turn'd to learning and gaming, religion and raking.
With the love of a wench, let his writings be chaste;
Tip his tongue with strange matter, his pen with fine taste;
That the rake and the poet o'er all may prevail,

Set fire to the head, and set fire to the tail:

For the joy of each sex, on the world I'll bestow it,
This scholar, rake, Christian, dupe, gamester, and poet;
Though a mixture so odd, he shall merit great fame,
And among brother mortals-be Goldsmith his name;
When on earth this strange meteor no more shall appear,
You, Hermes, shall fetch him-to make us sport here.

ON DR. GOLDSMITH'S CHARACTERISTICAL COOKERY.
A JEU D'ESPRIT.

ARE these the choice dishes the doctor has sent us?
Is this the great poet whose works so content us?
This Goldsmith's fine feast, who has written fine books?
Heaven sends us good meat, but the devil sends cooks.

31 Vide page 64.