In Islington there was a man, A kind and gentle heart he had, And in that town a dog was found, Both mongrel, puppy, whelp, and hound, And curs of low degree. This dog and man at first were friends; But when a pique began, The dog, to gain some private ends, Around from all the neighbouring streets The wondering neighbours ran, To bite so good a man. The wound it seem'd both sore and sad To every Christian eye; And while they swore the dog was mad, written at an earlier period; perhaps in 1760, as we find in the "Citizen of the World," (see vol. ii. p. 277), an amusing paper in which Goldsmith ridicules the fear of mad dogs as one of those epidemic terrors to which the people of England are occasionally prone.] But soon a wonder came to light, That shew'd the rogues they lied; The dog it was that died. ЕРІТАРН ON EDWARD PURDON. Here lies poor Ned Purdon, from misery freed, He led such a damnable life in this world, I don't think he'll wish to come back. (1) [Purdon died suddenly in Smithfield, in March 1767. He was the college friend of Goldsmith. Being of a thoughtless turn, he enlisted as a private soldier after quitting the University; but becoming tired of this mode of life, he commenced professional writer in London, and renewed his acquaintance with the Poet, of whose bounty he frequently partook, and is believed to have been the cause of some of the difficulties and imprudences of his good-natured friend. He died as he had lived—in penury; and it was, perhaps, with reference to him and others whom Goldsmith had known in the same unfortunate situation, and it is to be feared with the remembrance of some sufferings of his own, that we find the following passage on the effects of hunger in his Animated Nature:-" The lower race of animals, when satisfied for the instant moment, are perfectly happy; but it is otherwise with man his mind anticipates distress, and feels the pangs of want even before it arrests him. Thus the mind being continually harassed by the situation, it at length influences the constitution, and unfits it for all its functions. Some cruel disorder, but no way like hunger, seizes the unhappy sufferer; so that almost all those men who have thus long lived by chance, and whose every day may be considered as a happy escape from famine, are known at last to die in reality of a disorder caused by hunger, but which, in common language, is often called a broken heart. Some of these I have known myself when very little able to relieve them.”—See Life ch. vii.] EPILOGUE TO THE COMEDY OF THE SISTER.(1) What? five long acts-and all to make us wiser ? Had she consulted me, she should have made What if I give a masquerade ?—I will. But how? ay, there's the rub! [pausing]—I've got my cue; The world's a masquerade! the masquers, you, you, you. [To Boxes, Pit, and Gallery. Lud! what a group the motley scene discloses ! False wits, false wives, false virgins, and false spouses! Patriots in party-colour'd suits that ride 'em. (1) [Written by Mrs. Charlotte Lennox, and represented at CoventGarden Theatre, in January 1769. The plot was taken from the authoress's own novel entitled "Henrietta." The audience expressed their disapprobation of it with so much clamour and appearance of prejudice, that she would not suffer an attempt to exhibit it a second time. She published it without either remonstrance or complaint.-See Gent. Mag. vol. xxxix. p. 199.] "There are but two decent prologues in our tongue-Pope's to CatoJohnson's to Drury Lane. These, with the epilogue to the Distrest Mother, and, I think, one of Goldsmith's, and a prologue of old Colman's to Beaumont and Fletcher's Philaster, are the best things of the kind we have."-LORD BYRON, Works, vol. ii p. 165.] Miss, not yet full fifteen, with fire uncommon, Strip but this vizor off, and sure I am If with a bribe his candour you attack, [Mimicking. He bows, turns round, and whip-the man in black! If I proceed, our bard will be undone ! Well then, a truce, since she requests it too: VERSES IN REPLY TO AN INVITATION TO DINNER AT SIR GEORGE BAKER'S.(1) "This is a poem! This is a copy of verses !" Your mandate I got, You may all go to pot; Had your senses been right, For I could not make bold, Or to put on my duds; So tell Horneck and Nesbitt, And the Jessamy bride, (2) The Reynoldses two, I have something to sell him; (1) [For the above verses, now first published, the reader is indebted to Major General Sir Henry Bunbury, Bart. They were written about the year 1769, in reply to an invitation to dinner at Sir George Baker's, to meet the Misses Horneck, Sir Joshua Reynolds, Miss Reynolds, Angelica Kauffman, and others.-See Life, ch. xvii.] (2) [Mary Horneck (Mrs. Gwyn).] (3) [Catherine Horneck, afterwards Mrs. Bunbury.] (4) [Ensign (afterwards General) Horneck.] |