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Thou source of all my bliss, and all my woe, While thus I debated, in reverie center'd, That found'st me poor at first, and keep'st me so; An acquaintance, a friend as he called himself, 'Thou guide, by which the nobler arts excel,

enter'd ; Thou purse of ev'ry virtue, fare thee well; An under-bred, fine-spoken fellow was he, Farewell ! and O! where'er thy voice be try'd, And he smil'd as he look'd at the ven'son and me. On Torno's cliffs, or Pambamarca's side,

“ What hare we got here ? - Why this is good Whether where equinoctial fervours glow,

eating! On winter wraps the polar world in snow, Your own, I suppose-or is it in waiting ?" Still let thy voice, prevailing over time,

“Why whose should it be?”' cry'd I with a Redress the rigours of th' inciement clime;

flounce;

[bounce: Aid slighted truth, with thy persuasive strain , “I get these things often”—but that was a Teach erring man to spurn the rage of gain; “ Some lords, my acquaintance, that settle the Teach him, that states of native strength possest,

nation, Though very poor, may still be very blest; Are pleas'd to be kind--but I hate ostentation." That trade's proud empire hastes to swift decay, " If that be the case then,”-cry'd he, very As ocean sweeps the labour'd mole away ;

gay, While self-dependent pow'r can time defy, "I'm glad I have taken this house in my way. As rocks resist the billows and the sky.

To morrow you take a poor dimer with me;
No words--I insist on't-precisely at three :
We'll have Johnson and Burke; all the wits will
be there ;

[Clare THE HAUNCH OF VENISON.

My acquaintance is slight, or I'd ask my lord A POETICAL EPISTLE TO LORD CLARE.

And, now that I think on't, as I am sinner!

We wanted this ven'son to make out a dinner. FIRST PRINTED IN THE YEAR 1765.

What say you—a pasty ; it shall, and it must,

And my wife, little Kitty, is famous for crust. Thanks, my lord, for your venison, for finer or

Here, porter-this ven'son with me to Mile-end ; fatter

No stirring, I beg-my dear friend---my dear Ne'er rang’d in a forest, or smok'd in a platter; The haunch was a picture for painters to study, Thus snatching his hat, he brush?dofflike the wind,

friend !" 'The fat was so white, and the lean was so ruddy; And the porter and eatables follow'd behind. Though my stomach was sharp, I could scarce

Left alone to reflect, having emptied my shelf, help regretting To spoil such a delicate picture by eating :

And “ nobody with me at sea but myself ? ;" I had thoughts, in my chamber, to place it in Tho' I could not help thinking my gentleman view,

hasty,

(pasty, To be shown to my friends as a piece of virtû:

Yet Johnson, and Barke, and a good venison As in some Irish houses, where things are so so,

Were things that I never dislik'd in my life,

Tho'clogg'd with a coxcomb, and Kitty his wife. One gammon of bacon hangs up for a show; But, for eating a rasher of what they take pride in, Sonext day in due splendour to make my approach,

I drove to his door in my own hackney-coach. They'd as soon think of eating the pan it is fry'd in.

When come to the place where we all were to But hold—let me pause don't I hear you pro- | (A chair-lumber'd closet just twelve feet by nine)

dine, nounce, This tale of the bacon's a damnable bounce;

My friend bade me welcome, but struck me quite dumb

[come; Well, suppose it a bounce-sure a poet may try, By a bounce now and then, to get courage to fly. With tidings that Johnson and Burke would not But, my lord, it's no bounce : 1 protest, in my The one with his speeches, and tother with Thrale.

“For I knew it,” he cried, “ both eternally fail, turn, It's a truth, and your lordship may ask Mr. Burn'.

But no matter, I'll warrant we'll make up the "To go on with my tale--as I gazd on the haunch: With two full as clever, and ten times as hearts;

party, I thought of a friend that was trusty and staunch ; The one is a Scotchman, the other a Jew, [you; So I cut it, and sent it to Reynolds undrest, To paint it, or eat it, just as he lik'd best :

They're both of them merry, and authors like of the neck and the breast I had next to dispose: The one writes the Snarler, the other the Scourge ; 'Twas a neck and a breast that might rival Mon. Some think he writes Cinna--heowns to Panurge." roe's:

While thus he describ'd them by trade and by But in parting with these I was puzzled again,

name, With the how, and the who, and the where, and They enter'd, and dinner was serv'd as they came. the when.

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At the top a fried liver and bacon were seen, There's H-d, and C-y, and Herth, and at the bottom was tripe in a swinging tureen ; I think they love ven’son—I know they love beef. At the sides there were spinnage and pudding

made hot! There's my countryman Higgins-Oh ! let him For making a blunder, or picking a bone.Calone, In the middle a place where the pasts—was not. But hang it-to poets who seldom can eat,

Now, my lord, as for tripe, it's my utter aversion, Your very good mutton's a very good treat;

And your bacon I hate like a l'urk or a Persian; Such dainties to them their health it may hurt, It's like sending them raffles, when wanting a

See the letters that passed between his royal shirt,

highness Henry duke of Cumberland, and

lady Grosvenor--120 , 1760. Lord Clare's nephew. VOL, XVI.

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vour:

So there I sat stuck like a horse in a pound, Our dean 3 shall be ren'son, just fresh from the While the bacon and liver went merrily round :

plains ;

[brains; But what vex'd me most, was that d-'d Scottish Our Burke 3 shall be tongue, with the garnish of rogue,

[his brogue: Our Wille shall be wild fowl, of excellent flavour; With his long-winded speeches, his smiles, and And Dick 5 with his pepper shall heighten the saAnd, “Madam,” quoth he, “ may this bit be A prettier dinner I never set eyes on ;(my poison, Our Cumberland's sweet-bread its place shall Pray a slice of your liver, tho' may I be curst

obtain; But I've eat of your tripe till I'm ready to burst." And Douglass 7 is pudding, substantial and plain: “ The tripe," quoth the Jew, with his chocolate Our Garrick's® a sailad; for in him we see cheek,

Oil, vinegar, sugar, and saltness agree: "I could dine on this tripe seven days in a week : To make out the dinoer, full certain I am I like these here dinners so pretty and small; That Ridge 9 is anchovy,and Reynolds le is lamb; But your friend there, the doctor, eats nothing at That Hickey's 11 a capon; and, by the same rule, all."

(a trice, Magnanimous Goldsmith, a gooseberry fool. “()—ho !" quoth my friend,“ he'll come on in At a dinner su various, at such a repast, He's keeping a corner for something that's nice : Who'd not be a glutton, and stick to the last ? There's a pasty”—“A pasty 1" repeated the Jew; Here, waiter, more wine, let me sit while I'm “I dont care if I keep a corner for't too."

able, “What the de'il mon, a pasty !” re-echo'd the Till all my companions sink under the table; Scot ;

(that." Then, with chaos and blunders encircling my “ Though splitting, I'll still keep a corver for

head, “ We'll all keep a corner," the lady cried out ; Let me ponder, and tell what I think of the dead. “We'll all keep a corner," was echo'd about. Here lies the good dean, re-united to earth, While thus we resolvil, and the pasty delay'd, Who mix'd reason with pleasure, and wisdom With looks that quite petrified, enter'd the maid;

with mirth: A visage so sail, and so pale with affright, If he had any faults, he has left us in doubt, Wakd Priam in drawing his curtains by night. At least in six weeks I could not find them out; But we quickly found out (for who could mistake | Yet some have declar'd, and it can't be denied her ?)

[baker.

'em, That she came with some terrible news from the That sly-boots was cursedly cunning to hide 'em. And so it fell out, for that negligent sloven Here lies our good Edmund, whose geajus Fas Had shut out the pasty on shutting bis oven.

such, Sad Philomel thus-bul let similes drop- We scarcely can praise it, or blame it too much ; And now that I think ou’t the story may stop. Who, born for the universe, narrow'd his mind, To be plain, my good lord, it's but labour mis- | And to party gave up what was meant for manplac'd,

kind:

(his throat To send such good verses to one of your taste. Though fraught with all learning, yet straining You've got an odd something—a kind of discein- To persuade Tommy Townshend la to lend him a ing

vote;

(Gning, A relish-aa taste-sicken'd over by learning ; Who, too deep for his hearers, still went on re At least it's your temper, as very well known, And thought of convincing, while they thought That you tiink very slightly of all that's your

of dining;

Though equal to all things, for all things unfit; So, perhaps, in your babits of thinking amiss, Too nice for a statesman, too proud for a mit; You may make a mistake, and think slightly of this.

where the doctor, and the friends he has charao terised in this poem, occasionally dined.

· Dr. Barnard, dean of Derry in Ireland. RETALIATIO.V.

3. Mr. Edmund Burke. A POEM.

4 Mr. William Burke, late secretary to ge.

neral Conway, aur member for Bedwin. FIRST PRINTED IN THE YEAR 1774,

5 Mr. Richard Burke, collector of Grenada. AFTER THE AUTHOR'S DEATH.

6 Mr. Richard Cumberland, author of the West Dr. Goldsmith and some of his friends occa

Indian, Fashionable Lover, The Brothers, and

other dramatic pieces. sionally dined at the St. James's coflee-honse.One day it was proposed to write epitaphs on him.

7 Dr. Douglas, the late bishop of Salisbury, His country, dialect, and person, furnished sub

who bas no less distinguished himself as a citizen

of the world, than a sound critic, in detecting jects of witticism. He was called on for Retaliation, and at their next meeting produced the fol

several literary mistakes (or rather forgeries) of lowing poem.

his countrymen ; particulurly Lauder on Milton,

and Bower's History of the Popes. Of old, when Scarron his companions invited, 8 David Garrick, esg. Each guest brought his dish, and the feast was 9 Counsellor John Ridge. a gentleman belong. united.

(fish, ing to the Irish bar. *If our landlord' supplies us with beef and with 1o Sir Joshua Reynolds. Let each guest bring himself, and he brings the 1 An eminent attorney. best dish :

1: Mr.T.Townshend, member for Whitchurch. I 'The master of St. James's coffee-house

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For a patriot too cool; for a drudge disobedient ; | Macpherson 16 write bombast, and call it a style; And too fond of the right to pursue the expe- | Our Townshend make speeches, and I shall dient.

(sir,
compile;

(over, In short, 'twas his fate, unemploy'd, or in place, New Lauders and Bowers the Tweed shall cross To eat mutton cold, and cut blocks with a razor. No countryman liviog their tricks to discover; Here lies bonest William, whose heart was a Detection her taper shall quench oa spark, mint,

(was in't; And Scotchman meet Scotchman,and cheat in the While the owner ne'er knew half the good that

dark. The pupil of impulse, it forc'd him along,

Here lies David Garrick, describe him who His conduct still right, with his argument wrong;

can, Still aiming at honour, yet fearing to roam,

An abridgement of all that was pleasant in man : The coachman was tipsy, the chariot drove As an actor, confest without rival to shine; home;

(none; As a wit, if not first, in the very first line ! Would you ask for his merits? alas ! he had Yet, with talents like these, and an excellent What was good was spuntaneous, his faults were

heart, his own.

The man had his failings-a dupe to his art. Here lies honest Richard 13, whose fate I must Like an ill-judging beauty, his colours he spread, sigh at;

And bcplaster'd with rouge bis own natural Alas! that such frolic should now be so quiet :

red. What spirits were his ! what wit and what whim, On the stage he was natural, simple, affecting; Now breaking a jest, and now breaking a limb! 'Twas only that when he was off he was acting. Now wrangling and grumbling to keep up the With no reason ov earth to go out of his way, ball!

He turn'd and he varied full ten times a day: Now teasing and vexing, yet laughing at all! Though secure of our hearts, yet confoundedly In short, so provoking a devil was Dick,

sick That we wish'd him full teu times a day at old if they were not his own by finessing and trick: Nick;

He cast off his friends, as a huntsman his pack, But, missing his mirth and agreeable vein, For he knew when he pleas'd he could whistle As often we wish'd to have Dick back again.

them back. Here Cumberland lies, having acted his parts, of praise a mere glutton, he swallow'd what came, The Terence of England, the mender of hearts ;

And the puff of a dunce he mistook it for fame; A flatt'ring painter, who made it his care

Till his relish grown callous, almost to disease, To draw men as they ought to be, not as they are.

Who pepper'd the highest was surest to please. His gallants are all faultless, his women divine,

But let us be candid, and speak out our mind, And Comedy wonders at being so fine:

If dunces applauded, he paid them in kind. Like a tragedy queeu he has dizen'd her out,

Ye Kerricks, ye Kellys,'and Woodfalls" Or rather like Tragedy giving a rout,

grave,

(you gave! His fools have their follies so lost in a crowd What a commerce was your's, while you got and Of virtues and feelings, that folly grows proud;

How did Grub-street re-echo the shouts that you And coxcombs, alike in their failings, alone,

rais'd,

(praisa ! Adopting his portraits, are pleas'd with their

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

But peace to his spirit, wherever it flies, Say, where has our poet this malady caught?

To act as an angel and mix with the skies: Or wherefore his characters thus without fault?

Those poets who owe their best fame to his skill Say, was it that vainly directing tis view

Shall still be his flatterers, go where he will: To find out men's virtues, and finding them few, Old Shakespeare receive him with praise and Quite sick of pursuing each troublesome elf,

with love, He grew lazy at last, and drew from himself.

And Beaumonts and Bens be his Kellys above. Here Douglas retires from his toi!s to relax,

Here Hickey reclines, a most blunt pleasant The scourge of impostures, the terror of quacks :

creature, Çome, all ye quack bards, and ye quacking di- And slander itself moist allow him good-nature; vines,

[reclines:

lle cherish'd his friend, and be relish'd a bumper; Come, and dance on the spot where your tyrant Yet one fault he had, and that one was a When satire and censure encircled his throne;

thumper. I fear'd for your safety, I fear'd for my own:

Perhaps you may ask if the man was a miser? But now he is gone, and we want a detector, I answer, no, no, for he always was wiser : Our Dodds 14 shall be pious, our Kenricks's shall Too courteous, perhaps, or obligingly flat? lecture;

His very worst foe can't accuse him of that:

Perhaps he contided in men as they go, 13 Mr. Richard Burke. This gentleman har

And so was too foolishly honest ? Ah no! ing slightly fractured one of his arms and legs,

16 James Macpherson, esq. who lately, from at different times, the doctor has rallied him on those accidents, as a kind of retributive justice poet of all antiquity.

the mere force of his style, wrote down the first for breaking his jests upon other people.

17 Mr. Hugh Kelly, author of False Delicacy, 14 The rev. Dr. Dodů.

Word to the Wise, Clementina, School for Wives, 15 Dr. Kenrick, who read lectures at the Devil

&c. &c. tavern, nnder the title of The School of Shake

18 Mr. W. Woodfall, printer of the Morning speare.

Chronicle.

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own.

burn ye,

man:

free;

Then what was his failing ? come, tell it, and | This debt to thy mem'ry I cannot refuse,

“ Thou best humour'd man with the worst he He was, could he help it? a special attorney.

inour'd muse.” Here Reynolds is laid, and, to tell you my

mind, He has not left a wiser or better behind :

To this Postscript the reader may not be dis. His pencil was striking, resistless, and grand; pleased to find added the following His manners were gentle, complying, and bland; Still born to improve us in every part,

POETICAL EPISTLE TO DR. GOLDSMITH, OR, His pencil our faces, his inanners our heart :

SUPPLEMENT TO HIS RETALIATION, To coxcombs averse, yet inost civally steering, When they judg'd without skill he was still hard

(FROM THE GENTLEMAN'S MAGAZINE FOR ACof hearing; (and stuff,

cusr 1778.] When they talk'd of their Raphaels, Corregios, Doctor, according to our wishes, He shifted his trumpet '9, and only took souil. You've character'd us all in dishes;

Serv'd up a sentimental treat

Of various emblematic meat :
POSTSCRIPT.

And now it's time, I trust, yon'll think
After the fourth edition of this poem was print - Your company should have some drink:

ed, the publisher received the following epi- | Else, take my word for it, at least
taph on Mr. Whitefoord ', from a friend of Your Irish friends won't like your feast.
the late Dr. Goldsmith.

Ring, then, and see that there is plac'd
Here Whitefcord reclines, and deny it who can,

To each according to bis taste.
Though he merrily livd, he is now a grave

To Douglas, fraught with learned stock
Of critic lore, give ancient hock;

Let it be genuine, bright, and fine,
Rare compound of oddity, frolic, and fun!

Pure unadulterated wine; Who relish'd a joke, and rejoic'd in a pun ?;

For if there's fault in taste, or odour,
Whose temper was generous, open, sincere;

He'll search it, as he search'd out Lauder.
A stranger to flatt'ry, a stranger to fear;
Who scatter'd around wit and humour at will;

To Johnson, philosophic sage,
Whose daily bon mots half a column might fill:

The moral Mentor of the age,
A Scotchman, from pride and from prejudice Religion's friend, with soul sincere,

With melting heart, but look austere,
A scholar, yet surely no pedant was he.

Give liquor of an honest sort, What pity, alas! that so lib'ral a mind

And crown his cup with priestly port. Should so long be to newspaper essays confin'd!

Now fill the glass with gay champagne, Who perhaps to the summit of science could And frisk it in a livelierstrain;

Quick, quick, the sparkling nectar quaff, soar, Yet content “ if the table he set in a roar;"

Drink it, dear Garrick !-drink and laugh! Whose talents to fill any station were fit,

Pour forth to Reynolds, without stiut,

Rich burgundy, of ruby tint;
Yet happy if Woodfall 3 confess'd him a wit.
Ye newspaper witlings, ye pert seribbling if e'er his colours chance to fade,

This brilliant hue shall come in aid,
folks!
Who copied his squibs, and re-echo'd his jokes ; And warm the bosoms of the Graces.

With ruddy light refresh the faces,
Ye tame imitators, ye servile herd, come,
Still follow your master, and visit his tomb:

To Burke a pure libation bring,
To deck it, bring with you festoons of the vine,

Fresh drawn from clear Castalian spring : And copious libations bestow on his shrine;

With civic oak the goblet bind, Then strew all around it (you can do no less)

fit emblem of his patriot mind; Cross-readings, ship-news, and mistakes of the

Let Clio at his table sip,

And Hermes hand it to his lip. press 4. Merry Whitefoord, farewell! for thy sake I

Fill out my friend, the Dean' of Derry, admit

A bumber of conventual sherry ! [wit:

Give Ridge, and Hickey, generous souls! That a Scot may have humour, I had almost said

Of whiskey punch convivial bowls; 19 Sir Joshua Reynolds was so remarkably But let the kindred Burkes regale deaf as to be under the necessity of using an ear- With potent draughts of Wicklow ale ! trumpet in company.

To C*****k next in order turn ye, 1 Mr. Caleb Whitefoord, author of many bu. And grace him with the vines of Ferney! morous essays.

Now, doctor, you're an honest sticker, · Mr. W. was so notorious a punster, that So take your glass, and chuse your liquor : Dr. Goldsmith used to say it was impossible to

Wilt have it steep'd in Alpine snows, keep him company, without being infected with Or damask'd at Silenus' nose? the itch of pupping.

With Wakefield's vicar sip your tea 3 Mr. A. S. Woodfall, printer of the Public Or to Thalia drink with me? Advertiser.

And, doctor, I would have you know it, * Mr. Whitefuord has frequently indulged the An honest, 1, though humble poet; town with humorous pieces under those titles in the Public Advertiser,

Dr. Barnard.

I scorn the speaker like a toad,

“ Forbear, my son,” the hermit cries, Who drives his cart the Dover road,

“ To tempt the dang'rous gloom; There, traitor to his country's trade,

For yonder faithless phantom flies Smuggles vile scraps of French brocade :

To lure thee to thy doom. Hence with all such! for you and I

“ Here to the houseless child of want By English wares will live and die.

My door is open still ; Come, draw your chair, and stir the fire:

And thougb my portion is but scant, Here, boy !-a pot of Thrale's entire !

I give it with good will.
“Then turn to night, and freely share

Whate'er my cell bestows;
THE HERMIT.

My rushy couch and frugal fare,

My blessing and repose.
A BALLAD.

“No flocks that range the valley free FIRST PRINTED IN THE YEAR 1765.

To slaughter I condemn:
Taught by that Pow'r that pities me,

I learn to pity them:
THE FOLLOWING LETTER, ADDRESSED TO THE

“ But from the mountain's grassy side PRINTER OF THE ST. JAMES'S CHRONICLE, AP

A guiltless feast I bring ; PEAR IN THAT PAPER IN JUNE, 1767.

A scrip with herbs and fruits supply'd, SIR,

And water from the spring. As there is nothing I dislike so much as netus- “ Then, pilgrim, turn, thy cares forego; paper controversy, particularly upon trißes,

All earth-born cares are wrong: permit me to be as concise as possible in inform

Man wants but little here below, ing a correspondent of yours, that I recommend

Nor wants that little long." ed Blainville's Travels, because I thought the book was a good one ; and I think so still. I said, Soft as the dew from Heav'n descends, I was told by the bookseller that it was then first His gentle accents fell: published; but in that, it seems, I was misin- | The modest stranger lowly bends, formed, and my reading was not extensive

And follows to the cell. enough to set me right.

Far in a wilderness obscure Another correspondent of yours accuses me of The lonely mansion lay; having taken a ballad, I published some time A refuge to the neighbouring poor, ago, from one ' by the ingenious Mr. Percy. I And strangers led astray. do not think that there is any great resemblance between the two pieces in question. Ifthere be No stores beneath its humble thatck any, his ballad is taken from inine. I read it to

Requir'd a master's care; Mr. Percy, some years ago; and he (as we both The wicket, op'ning with a latch, considered these things as trifles at best) told me

Receiv'd the harmless pair. with his usual good humour, the next time I say And now when busy crowds retire him, that he had taken my plan to form the To take their ev’ning rest, fragments of Shakespeareinto a ballad of his own. The hermit trimm'd his little fire, He then read me his little cento, if I may so call And cheer'd his pensive guest : it, and I highly approved it. Such petty anec

And spread his vegetable store, dotes as these are scarce worth printing; and

And gaily prest, and smil'd; were it not for the busy disposition of some of

And, skille in legendary lore, your correspondents, the public should never

The ling'ring hours beguild, have known that he owes me the hint of his ballad, or that I am obliged to his friendship and Around in sympathetic mirth learning for communications of a much more im

Its tricks the kitten tries; portant nature.

The cricket chirrups in the hearth,

The crackling faggot flies.

But nothing could a charm impart
OLIVER GOLDSMITH. To soothe the stranger's woe;

For grief was heavy at his heart,

And tears began to flow.

His rising cares the hermit spyd, “ Turn, gentle hermit of the dale,

With answ'ring care opprest: And guide my lonely way,

“ And whence, unhappy youth,” be cry'd, To where yon taper cheers the vale

" The sorrows of thy breast? With hospitable ray.

“ From better babitations spurn'd, 56 For here forlorn and lost I tread,

Reluctant dost thou rove; With fainting steps and slow;

Or grieve for friendship unreturn'd, Where wilds, immeasurably spread,

Or unregarded love? Seem length’ning as I go.”

Alas! the joys that fortune brings

Are trifling, and decay; 'The Friar of Orders Grey. Reliq. of Anc.

And those who prize the paltry things, Poetry, vol. i. p. 243.

More trifling things than they.

I am, sir,

yours, &c.

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