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Ye Kenricks, ye Kellys,* and Woodfallst so grave,
What a commerce was yours, while you got and you gave !
How did Grub-street re-echo the shouts that you rais’d,
While he was be-Roscius’d, and you were be-prais'd !
But peace to his spirit, wherever it flies,
To act as an angel and mix with the skies :
Those poets, who owe their best fame to his skill,
Shall still be his flatterers, go where he will,
Old Shakspeare receive him with praise and with love,
And Beaumonts and Bens be his Kellys above.

Here Hickeyf redlines, a most blunt pleasant creature, And slander 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 wiser: Too courteous, perhaps, or obliyingly flat? His very worst foe cau't accuse him of that. Perhaps he confided in men as they go, And so was too foolishly honest ? alı, no! Then what was his failing ? come tell it, and, burn ye: He was, could he help it?-a special attorney.

Jere Reynolds is lail, and to tell you my mind,
He has not left a wiser or better behind;
Ilis pencil was striking, resistless, and grand;
Ilis manners were gentle, complying, and bland ;ý

* Mr. Hugh Kully, author of False Delicacy, Word to the Wise, Clemen. tina, School for lives, &r. &c. † Mr. William Woolfall, printer of the Morning Chronicle.

[See Life, vol. ii. p. 235.] $ [" To his gentle anil happy composure of mind, our common friend

Still born to improve us in every part,
His pencil our faces, his manners our heart:
To coxcombs averse, yet most civilly steering,
When they judg'd without skill, he was still hard of hearing:
When they talk'd of their Raphaels, Correggios, and stuff,
He shifted his trumpet,* and only took snuff.f


After the fourth edition of this Poem was printed, the publisher received

the following epitaph on Mr. Whitefoord, I from a friend of the late Dr. Goldsmith.

HERE Whitefoord reclines, and deny it who can,
Though he merrily liv'd, he is now a gravej man:

Goldsmith alludes, when, in describing Sir Joshua Reynolds, he employed the epithet blanda word eminently happy, and characteristic of his easy and placid manner; but, taking into our consideration at once the soundness of his understanding, and the mildness and suavity of his deportment, perhaps Horace's description of the amiable friend of the younger Scipio—the 'mitis sapientia Læli, -may convey to posterity a more perfect idea of our illustrious painter, than the unfinished delineation of his poetical friend.”—MALONE, Life of Sir Joshua Reynolds. ]

* Sir Joshua Reynolds was so remarkably deaf, as to be under the necessity of using an ear-trumpet in company.

† [“ These were the last lines Goldsmith ever wrote. He had written half a line more of this character, when he was seized with the fever which carried him in a few days to the grave. He intended to have concluded with his own character."- MALONE.]

† Mr. Caleb Whitefoord, author of many humorous essays.

Ø Mr. Whitefoord was so notorious a pungter, that Dr. Goldsmith used 10 say it was impossible to keep him company, without being infected with the itch of punning.

Rare compound of oddity, frolic, and fun!
Who relish'd a joke, and rejoic'd in a pun;
Whose temper was generous, open, sincere;
A stranger to flatt'ry, a stranger to fear;
Who scatter'd around wit and humor at will;
Whose daily bon mots half a column might fill:
A Scotchman, from pride and from prejudice free:
A scholar, yet surely no pedant was he.

What pity, alas! that so lib'ral a mind
Should so long be to newspaper essays confin'd!
Who perhaps to the summit of science could soar,
Yet content “if the table be set in a roar;"'
Whose talents to fill any station were fit,
Yet happy if Woodfall* confess'd him a wit.

Ye newspaper witlings! ye pert scribbling folks!
Who copied his squibs, and re-echo'd his jokes;
Ye tame imitators, ye servile herd, come,
Still follow your master, and visit his tomb:
To deck it, bring with you festoons of the vine,
And copious libations bestow on his shrine;
Then strew all around it (you can do no less)
Cross-readings, Ship-news, and Mistakes of the Press.

Merry Whitefoord, farewell! for thy sake I admit
That a Scot may have humor, I had almost said wit.
This debt to thy mem’ry I cannot refuse,
“ Thou best-humor'd man with the worst-humor'd Musc."#

* Mr. H. S. Woodfall, printer of the Public Advertiser.

+ Mr. Whitefoord has frequenily indulged the town with humorous pieces ander those titles in the Public Advertiser.

[The wit of Goldsmith in this poem produced, as such things frequently do, an effusion of wit from other men. Garrick, who had a turn for epigram, was the first in the field: led by the skill and keenness with which his own character had been analyzed, but unprepared for reply, his first feeling seems to have been one of mere discontent, which he expressed in the following

"Are these the choice dishes the Doctor has sent us?

Is this the great poet whose works so content us?
This Goldsmith's fine seast, who has written fine books i
Heaven sends us good meat, but the Devil sends cooks."

Further reflection convinced Garrick of the enduring nature of the satire ; and he soon found that it was thought by others to contain much truth. This prompted a more labored effusion in the form of attack on his assailant; for the idea and point of which, however, he is indebted to Swift. It was not printed, and probably not written, before 1776.

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“Here, Hermes, says Jove, who with nectar was mellow,

Go fetch me some clay-I will make an odd fellow !
Right and wrong shall be jumbled,-much gold and some dross;
Without cause be he pleas'd, without cause be he cross;
Be sure, as I work, to throw in contradictions,
A great love of truth, yet a mind turn'd to fictions;
Now mix these ingredients, which, warm’d in the baking,
Turn'd to learning and gaming, religion and raking.
With the love of a wench, let his writings be chaste;
Tip his tonglie with strange matter, his pen with fine taste;
That the rake and the poet o'er all may prevail,
Set fire to the head, and ret fire to the tail;
For the joy of each sex, on the world I'll bestow it,
This scholar, rake, Christian, dupe, gamester, and poet;
Though a mixture so odd, he shall merit great fame,
And among brother mortals--be Goldsmith his name;
When on earth this strange meteor no more shall appear,
You, Hermes, shall fetch him--o make us sport here."

Cumberland, having no resentments to gratify, ventured to imitate his original, by applying to wines the characters appropriated by Goldsmith to dishes. The idea was good: and in the following piece, which was first printed about 1777, is cleverly executed, though infinitely inferior to the humor, discrimination, and talent that pervades · Retaliation.'


" Doctor, according to our wishes,
You've character'd us all in dishes:
Served up a sentimental treat,
of various emblematic meat;
And now it's time, I trust, you'll think
Your company should have some drink;
Else, take my word for it, at least
Your Irish friends won't like your feast.
Ring, then, and see that there is placed
To each according to his taste.

" To Douglas, fraught with learned stock

of critic lore, give ancient Ilock;
Let it be genuine, bright, and fine,
Pure, unadulterated wine;
For if there's fault in taste or odor,
He'll search it, as he search'd out Lauder.

" To Johnson, philosophic sage,
The moral Mentor of the are;
Religion's friend, with goul sincere,
With melting heart, but look austere ;
Give liquor of an honest sort,
And crown his cup with priestly Pori.

“ Now fill the glass with may Champagne,

And frick it in a livelier hrain:
Quick! quick! the sparkling nectar quaff;
Drink it, dear Garrick! drink and laugh.

“ Pour forth to Reynolds, without stint;

Rich Burgundy of ruby tint;
li e'er his colors chance to faule,
This brilliant hue shall come in aid;
With ruddy light refresh the faces,
And warm the bo-orn of the Graces.

"To Burke a pure libution bring,

Fresh drawn from the Casialian spring;
With civic oak the goblet bind,
Fit emblem of his priot mind;
Let Clio at his table sip,
And Hermes hand it to his lip.

"Tull out my friend, the Damn of Derry,

A bumper os conventual Sherry.

*Give Ridge and Ilickey, generous souls !
01 Whisky punch convivial bowis;
But let the kindred Burkes regale,
With poten: draughts or Wicklor ale!

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