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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 32 Reynolds is laid, and, to tell you my mind,
He has not left a wiser or better 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 judg'd without skill he was still hard
of hearing: [stuff, When they talk'd of their Raphaels, Corregios, and
He shifted his 33 trumpet, and only took snuff.

32 Vide page 64.

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

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After the fourth edition of this poem was printed, the publisher received the following epitaph on Mr. Whitefoord j34 from a friend of the late Doctor Goldsmith.

Here Whitefoord reclines, and deny it who can,
Though he merrily liv'd, he is now a 35 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 flattery, 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, yet surely no pedant was he.

What pity, alas! that so liberal a mind
Should so long be to newspaper essays confin'd!
Who perhaps to the summit of science could soar,
Yet content ' if the table he set in a roar;'
Whose talents to fill any station was fit,
Yet Happy if *" Woodfall confess'd him a wit.

34 Mr. Caleb Whitefoord, author of many humorous essays.

35 Mr. W. was so notorious a punster, that Doctor Goldsmith used to say it was impossible to keep him company, without being infected with the itch of punning.

36 Mr. H. S. Woodfall, printer of the Public Advertiser.

Ye newspaper witlings! ye pert scribbling folks! Who copied his squibs, and reechoed his jokes; Ye tame imitators, ye servile herd, come, Still follow your master, and visit his tomb: 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) 3" Gross readings, ship news, and mistakes of the press.

Merry Whitefoord, farewell! for thy sake I admit That a Scot may have humour. I had almost said wit:This debt to thy memory I cannot refuse, 38' Thou best humour'd man with the worst hu- mour'd muse.'

"Mr. Whitefoord has frequently indulged the town with humorous pieces under those titles in the Public Advertiser. On C. Whitefoord, see Smith's Life of Nollekens, vol. i. p. 338—340. See his poem to Sir Joshua Reynolds, 'Admire not, dear knight,' in Northcote's Life of Reynolds, p. 128.

38 ' When you and Southern, Moyle, and Congreve meet, The best good men, with the best natured wit.'

C. Hopkins, v. Nicholls' Col. Poems, ii. p. 207.




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