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And there shall the cowslip and primrose be cast,
And the new-blossom'd thorn shall whiten her tomb.

On the grave of Augusta this garland be plac'd,
We'll rifle the spring of its earliest bloom;
And there shall the cowslip and primrose be cast,
And the tears of her country shall water her tomb.






Aн, me! when shall I marry me?

Lovers are plenty; but fail to relieve me: He, fond youth, that could carry me,

Offers to love, but means to deceive me.

But I will rally, and combat the ruiner :

Not a look, not a smile shall my passion discover: She that gives all to the false one pursuing her, Makes but a penitent, loses a lover.


Addison, in some beautiful Latin lines inserted in the Spectator, is entirely of opinion that birds observe a strict chastity of manners, and never admit the caresses of a different tribe.-(v. Spectator, No. 412.)

CHASTE are their instincts, faithful is their fire,

No foreign beauty tempts to false desire;

The snow-white vesture, and the glittering crown,
The simple plumage, or the glossy down

[1 This was first printed by Boswell in the London Magazine for June, 1774. It had been intended for the part of "Miss Hardcastle," but Mrs. Bulkley, who played that part, was no vocalist. Goldsmith himself sang it very agreeably to an Irish air, The Humours of Balamagairy. (See Birkbeck Hill's Boswell, 1887, ii. 219.)]

[2 From Goldsmith's History of the Earth and Animated Nature, 1774, V. 312.]

Prompt not their love:-the patriot bird pursues
His well acquainted tints, and kindred hues.
Hence through their tribes no mix'd polluted flame,
No monster-breed to mark the groves with shame ;
But the chaste blackbird, to its partner true,
Thinks black alone is beauty's favourite hue.
The nightingale, with mutual passion blest,
Sings to its mate, and nightly charms the nest :
While the dark owl to court its partner flies,
And owns its offspring in their yellow eyes.

THIS tomb, inscrib'd to gentle Parnell's name,
May speak our gratitude, but not his fame.
What heart but feels his sweetly-moral lay,
That leads to truth through pleasure's flowery way!
Celestial themes confess'd his tuneful aid;
And Heaven, that lent him genius, was repaid.
Needless to him the tribute we bestow-
The transitory breath of fame below:

More lasting rapture from his works shall rise,
While converts thank their poet in the skies.


JOHN TROTT was desired by two witty peers
To tell them the reason why asses had ears.
"An't please you," quoth John, "I'm not given to letters,
Nor dare I pretend to know more than my betters;
Howe'er from this time I shall ne'er see your graces,
As I hope to be saved! without thinking on asses.'


[1 This epitaph was first printed with The Haunch of Venison, 1776. Parnell died in 1718. In 1770 Goldsmith wrote his life.] [2 First printed at p. 79 of Poems and Plays. By Oliver Goldsmith, M.B. Dublin, 1777. It is there dated " Edinburgh, 1753."]


HERE lies poor Ned Purdon, from misery freed,
Who long was a bookseller's hack;

He led such a damnable life in this world,--
I don't think he'll wish to come back.

EPILOGUE FOR MR. LEE LEWES 2 HOLD! Prompter, hold! a word before your nonsense; I'd speak a word or two to ease my conscience. My pride forbids it ever should be said, My heels eclips'd the honours of my head; That I found humour in a piebald vest, Or ever thought that jumping was a jest.

(Takes off his mask.)

Whence, and what art thou, visionary birth?
Nature disowns, and reason scorns thy mirth,
In thy black aspect every passion sleeps,
The joy that dimples, and the woe that weeps.
How hast thou fill'd the scene with all thy brood,
Of fools pursuing, and of fools pursu❜d!
Whose ins and outs no ray of sense discloses,
Whose only plot it is to break our noses;
Whilst from below the trap-door Demons rise,
And from above the dangling deities;
And shall I mix in this unhallow'd crew?
May rosin'd lightning blast me, if I do!

[ First printed as Goldsmith's in Poems and Plays, 1777, P. 79. Purdon had been at Trinity College, Dublin, with Goldsmith. Swift wrote a somewhat similar epigram; but Goldsmith's model was probably La Mort du Sieur Etienne. (Forster's Life, ii. 39.)]

1871, ha39es Lee Lewes (1740-1803) was the original "Young

Marlow" of She Stoops to Conquer. He had previously been Harlequin of the theatre, but he thoroughly succeeded in his new part, and the grateful author wrote him this Epilogue for his Benetit, May 7, 1773.]

No-I will act, I'll vindicate the stage:
Shakespeare himself shall feel my tragic rage.
Off! off! vile trappings! a new passion reigns!
The madd'ning monarch revels in my veins.
Oh! for a Richard's voice to catch the theme:
"Give me another horse! bind up my wounds !—soft-
'twas but a dream."

Ay, 'twas but a dream, for now there's no retreating :
If I cease Harlequin, I cease from eating.

'Twas thus that Aesop's stag, a creature blameless,
Yet something vain, like one that shall be nameless,
Once on the margin of a fountain stood,

And cavill'd at his image in the flood.

"The deuce confound," he cries, "these drumstick shanks,

They never have my gratitude nor thanks;
They're perfectly disgraceful! strike me dead!

But for a head, yes, yes, I have a head.

How piercing is that eye! how sleek that brow!
My horns! I'm told horns are the fashion now."
Whilst thus he spoke, astonish'd, to his view,

Near, and more near, the hounds and huntsmen drew.
"Hoicks! hark forward!" came thund'ring from behind,
He bounds aloft, outstrips the fleeting wind:
He quits the woods, and tries the beaten ways;
He starts, he pants, he takes the circling maze.
At length his silly head, so priz'd before,
Is taught his former folly to deplore;

Whilst his strong limbs conspire to set him free,
And at one bound he saves himself,-like me.

(Taking a jump through the stage door.)

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Enter MRS. BULKLEY, who curtsies very low as beginning to speak. Then enter MISS CATLEY, who stands full before her, and curtsies to the audience.


HOLD, Ma'am, your pardon. What's your business here?

The Epilogue.



The Epilogue?


Yes, the Epilogue, my dear.


Sure you mistake, Ma'am. The Epilogue, I bring it.


Excuse me, Ma'am. The Author bid me sing it.


Ye beaux and belles, that form this splendid ring,
Suspend your conversation while I sing.


Why, sure the girl's beside herself: an Epilogue of singing,

A hopeful end indeed to such a blest beginning.
Besides, a singer in a comic set!—

Excuse me, Ma'am, I know the etiquette.

[This Epilogue, given to Bishop Percy by Goldsmith, was first printed at p. 82, vol. ii. of the Miscellaneous Works of 1801. It was written with intent to conciliate the rival claims of Mrs. Bulkley and Miss Catley, the former of whom wished to speak, the latter to sing, the Epilogue. (See Cradock's Memoirs, 1826, i. 225.)]

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