Our (f) Cumberland's fweet-bread its place fhall obtain,
And (g) Douglas is pudding, fubftantial and plain:
Our (b) Garrick's a fallad, for in him we see
Oil, vinegar, fugar, and faltnefs agree:

To make out the dinner, full certain I am,

That (i) Ridge is anchovy, and (k) Reynolds is lamb;
That (1) Hickey's a capon; and, by the fame rule,
Magnanimous Goldsmith, a goofberry fool:
At a dinner fo various, at fuch a repast,

Who'd not be a glutton, and stick to the laft:
Here, waiter, more wine, let me fit while I'm able,
'Till all my companions fink under the table;
Then with chaos and blunders encircling my head,
Let me ponder, and tell what I think of the dead.
Here lies the good Dean, re-united to earth,
Who mixt reafon with pleasure, and wisdom with mirth:
If he had any faults, he has left us in doubt,
At least, in fix weeks, I could not find 'em out;
Yet fome have declar'd, and it can't be denied 'em,
That fly-boots was curfedly cunning to hide 'em.

Here lies our good Edmund, whofe genius was fuch,
We fcarcely can praife it, or blame it too much;
Who, born for the Univerfe, narrow'd his mind,
And to party gave up, what was meant for mankind.
Tho' fraught with all learning, yet ftraining his throat,
To perfuade (m) Tommy Townfend to lend him a vote;
Who, too deep for his hearers, ftill went on refining,
And thought of convincing, while they thought of dining;
Tho' equal to all things, for all things unfit,
Too nice for a ftatefman, too proud for a wit:
For a patriot too cool; for a drudge, disobedient,
And too fond of the right to pursue the expedient.
In short, 'twas his fate, unemploy'd, or in place, Sir,
To eat mutton cold, and cut blocks with a razor.

(f) Author of the Weft-Indian, Fashionable Lover, the Brothers, and other dramatic pieces.

(g) Doctor Douglas, Canon of Windfor, an ingenious Scotch gentleman, which has no lefs diftinguifhed himself as a Citizen of the World, than a found Critic, in detecting feveral literary miftakes, or rather forgeries, of his countrymen; particularly Lauder on Milton, and Bower's Hiftory of the Popes.

(b) David Garrick, Efq; joint Patentee and acting Manager of the TheatreRoyal, Drury-Lane.

(1) Counsellor John Ridge, a gentleman belonging to the Irish bar, the relish of whofe agreeable and pointed converfation is admitted, by all his acquaintance, to be very properly compared to the above fauce.

(4) Sir Joshua Reynolds, Prefident of the Royal Academy. *

(An eminent Attorney.

(m) Mr. T. Townsend, Member for Whitchurch.

Here

Here lies honeft William, whofe heart was a mint, While the owner n'er knew half the good that was in't ; The pupil of impulfe, it forc'd him along,

*

His conduct ftill right, with his argument wrong;.
Still aiming at honour, yet fearing to roam,
The coachman was tipfy, the chariot drove home;
Would you ask for his merits, alas! he had none,
What was good was fpontaneous, his faults were his own.
Here lies honeft Richard, whofe fate I must figh at,
Alas, that fuch frolic fhould now be so quiet!
What spirits were his, what wit and what whim,
() Now breaking a jeft, and now breaking a limb;
Now wrangling and grumbling to keep up the ball,
Now teazing and vexing, yet laughing at all?
In short, fo provoking a Devil was Dick,

That we wished him full ten times a day at Old Njck.
But miffing his mirth and agreeable vein,
As often we wish'd to have Dick back again.

Here 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.
His gallants are all faultlefs, his women divine,
And comedy wonders at being fo fine;
Like a tragedy queen he has dizen'd her out,
Or rather like tragedy giving a rout.

His fools have their follies fo loft 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 mens virtues and finding them few,
Quite fick of purfuing each troublefome, elf,
He grew lazy at laft and drew from himfelf?

Here Douglas retires from his toils to relax,

The fcourge of impoflors, the terror of quacks;
Come all ye quack bards, and ye quacking divines,
Come and dance on the fpot where your tyrant reclines,
When Satire and Cenfure encircled his throne,

I fear'd for your fafety, I fear'd for my own;

(n) Mr. Richard Burke; vide p. 197. This gentleman having flightly fractured one of his arms and legs, at different times, the Doctor has raillied him on those accidents, as a kind of retributive juftice for breaking his jefts upon other people.

04

But

But now he is gone, and we want a detector,
Our Dodds fhall be pious, our Kenricks fhall lecture ;
Macpherson write bombaft, and call it a ftyle;
Our Townshend make fpeeches, and I fhall compile ;

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

And Scotchman meet Scotchman and cheat in the dark.
Here lies David Garrick, defcribe 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 beplaifter'd, with rouge, his own natural red.
On the stage he was natural, fimple, affecting:
'Twas only that, when he was off, he was acting:
With no reafon on earth to go out of his way,
He turned and he varied full ten times a-day;
Tho' fecure of our hearts, yet confoundedly fick,
If they were not his own by fineffing and trick;
He caft off his friends, as a huntsman his pack,
For he knew when he pleas'd he could whittle them back,
Of praise a mere glutton, he fwallow'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 higheft, was fureft to please.
But let us be candid, and speak out our mind,
If dunces applauded, he paid them in kind.

Ye Kenricks, ye Kellys, and Woodfalls fo grave,

What a commerce was yours, while you got and you gave?
How did Grub-street re-echo the fhouts that you rais'd,
While he was berofcius'd, and you were beprais'd?

But peace to his fpirit, wherever it flies,

To act as an angel, and mix with the skies:

Thofe poets, who owe their best fame to his skill,

Shall ftill be his flatterers, go where he will.

Old Shakespeare, receive him, with praise and with love,
And Beaumonts and Bens be his Kellys above.

Here Hickey reclines, a moft blunt, pleafant creature,
And flander 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 wifer:
Too courteous, perhaps, or obligingly flat?
His very worst foe can't accufe him of that.

Perhaps

Perhaps he confided in men as they go,
And fo was too foolishly honeft; ah no!

Then what was his failing? come tell it, and burn ye,
He was, could he help it? a fpecial attorney.

Here Reynolds is laid, and, to tell you my mind,
He has not left a wiser or better behind;

His pencil was striking, refiftlefs 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 averfe, yet moft civilly steering,

When they judg'd without fkill he was ftill hard of hearing:
When they talk'd of their Raphaels, Corregios, and stuff,
He shifted his (0) trumpet, and only took snuff.

Extract from a MONÖDY, on the Death of Dr. OLIVER GOLDSMITH.
ARK as the night, which now in dunnest robe

Sad melancholy wakes, awhile to tread,
With folemn step, the manfions of the dead :
Led by her hand, o'er this yet recent shrine
I forrowing bend; and here effay to twine
The tributary wreath of laureate bloom,
With artless hands, to deck a poet's tomb;

The tomb where Goldfmith fleeps. Fond hopes, adieu!
No more your airy dreams fhall mock my view :
Here will I learn ambition to controul,

And each afpiring paffion of the foul:

E'en now, methinks, his well known voice I hear,
When late he meditated flight from care,
When as imagination fondly hied

To fcenes of fweet retirement, thus he cried.
"Ye fplendid fabricks, palaces, and towers,
"Where diffipation leads the giddy hours,
"Where pomp, disease, and knavery refide,
"And folly bends the knee to wealthy pride;
"Where luxury's purveyors learn to rife,
"And worth, to want a prey, unfriended dies;
"Where warbling Eunuchs glitter in brocade,
"And hapless Poets toil for fcanty bread:

« Farewell! to other fcenes I turn my eyes,
"Embofom'd in the vale where Auburn lies,
"Deserted Auburn, thofe now ruin'd glades,
"Forlorn, yet ever dear and honour'd fhades.

(o) Sir Jofhua Reynolds is fo remarkably deaf as to be under the neceffity of afing an ear trumpet in company.

"There

"There tho' the Hamlet boasts no fmiling train,
"Nor fportful paftime circling on the plain;
"No needy villains proul around for prey,
"No flanderers, no fycophants betray;
"No gaudy foplings fcornfully deride

The fwain, whofe humble pipe is all his pride.
"There will I fly to seek that soft repofe,
"Which folitude contemplative bestows:

"Yet, oh fond hope! perchance there ftill remains "One lingering friend behind, to blefs the plains; "Some Hermit of the dale, infhrined in ease, "Long loft companion of my youthful days; "With whofe fweet converfe in his focial bower, "I oft may chide away some vacant hour; "To whole pure fympathy, I may impart "Each latent grief, that labours at my heart, "Whate'er I felt, and what I faw, relate, "The fhoals of luxury, the wrecks of state; "Those busy scenes, where science wakes in vain, "In which I fhar'd, ah! ne'er to share again. "But whence that pang? does nature now rebel? "Why faulters out my tongue the word farewell? "Ye friends! who long have witness'd to my toil, "And feen me ploughing in a thankless foil, "Whofe partial tenderness hufh'd every pain, "Whofe approbation made my bofom vain : 'Tis you, to whom my foul divided hies "With fond regret, and half unwilling flies; Sighs forth her parting wishes to the wind, And lingering leaves her better half behind. "Can I forget the intercourse I fhar'd

"What friendship cherish'd, and what zeal endear'd? "Alas! remembrance ftill must turn to you,

"And to my latest hour, protract the long adieu. "Amid the woodlands, wherefoe'er I rove,

"The plain, or fecret covert of the grove,

Imagination fhall fupply her store

"Of painful blifs, and what she can restore;
Shall ftrew each lonely path with flowrets gay,
"And wide as is her boundless empire ftray,
"On eagle pinions traverfe earth, and fkies,
"And bid the loft and diftant objects rise.
"Here, where encircled o'er the floping land
"Woods rife on woods, fhall Aristotle stand;

Lyceum round the godlike man rejoice, "And bow with reverence to wisdom's voice. "There, spreading oaks fhall arch the vaulted dome, "The Champion, there, of liberty, and Rome,