When fatire and cenfure encircled his throne,
I fear'd for your fafety, I fear'd for my own;
But now he is gone, and we want a detector,
Our (1) Dodds fhall be pious, our (2) Kenricks
fhall lecture:

(3)Macpherson write bombaft, and call it a ftyle; Our (4) Townfhrend make fpeeches, and I fhall compile;

New (5) Lauders and Bowers the Tweed fhall cross

over,

No countryman living their tricks to discover;
Detection her taper shall quench to a spark,

And Scotchman meet Scotchman, and cheat in the dark.

Here lies (6) David Garrick; defcribe me who

can,

An abridgment of all that was pleasant in man;
As an actor, confeft without rival to shine;
As a wit, if not first, in the very firft line:

Yet,

(1) The Rev. Dr. Dodd.

(2) Mr. Kenrick read lectures at the Devil Tavern, under the title of "The School of Shakespeare."

(3) James Macpherfon, Efq. who lately, from the mere force of his ftyle, wrote down the first poet of all antiquity.

(4) Vide page 71.

(5) Vide note to page 70.

(6) Vide page 70.

Yet, with talents like thefe, and an excellent heart,
The man had his failings, a dupe to his art.

Like an ill-judging beauty, his colours he spread,
And beplaster'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 turn'd and he varied full ten times a day:
Tho' fecure of our hearts, yet, confoundedly sick,
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 relifh grown callous, almoft 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 (7) Kenricks, ye (8) Kellys, and (9) Woodfalls,
fo grave,

What a commerce was yours, while you got and

you gave!

K 2..

How

(7) Vide page 74.

(8) Mr. Hugh Kelly, author of Falfe Delicacy, Word to the Wife, Clementina, School for Wives, &c. &c.

(9) Mr. William Woodfall, printer of the Morning Chronicle.

How did Grub-street re-echo the fhouts that you rais'd,

While he was be-Rofcius'd, and you were be-prais'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 (1) his Kellys above.

Here (2) Hickey reclines, a moft blunt pleasant
creature,

And flander itself muft allow him good-nature:
He cherish'd his friend, and he relifh'd a bumper;
Yet one fault he had, and that one was a thumper.
Perhaps you may ask if the man was a mifer?
I answer, no, no; for he always was wiser.
Too courteous, perhaps, or obligingly flat?
His very worft foe can't accufe him of that.
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 (3) Reynolds is laid, and to tell you my
mind,

He has not left a wifer or better behind;

(1) Vide page 74.

His

(2) Vide page 70.

(3) Vide page 70.

His pencil was striking, refistless 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 most civilly steering,
When they judg'd without skill he was still hard of
hearing :

When they talk'd of their Raphaels, Corregios and stuff,

He fhifted his (3) trumpet and only took snuff.

(3) Sir Joshua Reynolds was fo remarkably deaf as to be under the neceffity of using an ear trumpet in company.

FOSTSCRIPT. *

HERE Whitefoord reclines, and deny it who can, Though he merrily liv'd, he is now a (1) grave man: Rare compound of oddity, frolic and fun!

Who relifh'd a joke, and rejoic'd in a pun;

Whofe

* After the fourth edition of Retaliation was printed, the Publisher received the above Epitaph on Mr. Caleb Whitefoord, from a Friend of the late Doctor Goldsmith.

(1) Mr. W. was fo notorious a punfter, that Doctor Goldfinith used to say it was impoffible to keep him company without being infected with the itch of punning.

Whose temper was generous, open, fincere ;
A stranger to flatt'ry, a ftranger to fear;
Who scatter'd around wit and humour at will;
Whofe daily bon mots half a column might fill:
A Scotchman from pride and from prejudice free;
A scholar, yet furely no pedant was he.

What pity, alas! that fo lib'ral a mind Should fo long be to newspaper effays confin'd; Who perhaps to the fummit of fcience could foar, Yet content "if the table he fet in a roar;" Whofe talents to fill any station were fit, Yet happy if Woodfall (1) confefs'd him a wit.

Ye newspaper witlings! ye pert fcribbling folks; Who copied his fquibs, and re-echo'd his jokes ; Ye tame imitators, ye fervile herd, come, Still follow your master, and vifit his tomb: To deck it, bring with you feftoons of the vine, And copious libations beftow on his shrine; Then ftrew all around it (you can do no less) (2) Crofs readings, hip-news, and mistakes of the prefs.

Merry

(1) Mr. H. S. Woodfall, printer of the Public Adver tifer

(2) Mr. Whitefoord frequently indulg'd the town with numerous pieces under those titles in the Public Advertiser.