Now, my lord, as for tripe, it's my utter aversion,
And your bacon I hate like a Turk or a Persian.
So there I sat stuck, like a horse in a pound,
While the bacon and liver went merrily round:

85

But what vex'd me most, was that d-'d Scottish rogue,
With his long-winded speeches, his smiles, and his brogue;
And," Madam," quoth he, " may this bit be my poison,
A prettier dinner I never set eyes on;

100

Pray a slice of your liver, though, may I be curst, But I've ate of your tripe till I'm ready to burst." "The tripe," quoth the Jew, with his chocolate cheek, "I could dine on this tripe seven days in the week: I like these here dinners so pretty and small; But your friend there, the doctor, eats nothing at all." "O ho!" quoth my friend, "he'll come on in a trice, He's keeping a corner for something that's nice : There's a pasty."-"A pasty!" repeated the Jew; "I don't care if I keep a corner for't too." "What the deil, mon, a pasty!" re-echoed the Scot; "Though splitting, I'll still keep a corner for that." "We'll all keep a corner," the lady cried out ; "We'll all keep a corner," was echoed about. While thus we resolved, and the pasty delay'd, With looks that quite petrified, enter'd the maid; A visage so sad, and so pale with affright, Waked Priam in drawing his curtains by night. But we quickly found out (for who could mistake her?) That she came with some terrible news from the baker: And so it fell out, for that negligent sloven Had shut out the pasty on shutting his oven. Sad Philomel thus-but let similes dropAnd now that I think on't, the story may stop.

110

To be plain, my good lord, it's but labour misplaced, To send such good verses to one of your taste:

You've got an odd something-a kind of discerning-
A relish a taste-sicken'd over by learning;

At least, it's your temper, as very well known,
That you think very slightly of all that's your own:
So, perhaps, in your habits of thinking amiss,
You may make a mistake, and think slightly of this.

120

RETALIATION:

A POEM.

Dr Goldsmith and some of his friends occasionally dined at the St James's Coffee-house. One day it was proposed to write epitaphs on him. His country, dialect, and person, furnished subjects of witticism. He was called on for retaliation, and at their next meeting produced the following poem.

Or old, when Scarron his companions invited,

Each guest brought his dish, and the feast was united.
If our landlord1 supplies us with beef and with fish,
Let each guest bring himself, and he brings the best dish.
Our Dean2 shall be venison, just fresh from the plains;
Our Burke3 shall be tongue, with the garnish of brains ;
Our Will shall be wild-fowl, of excellent flavour;
And Dick5 with his pepper shall heighten the savour:
Our Cumberland's sweetbread its place shall obtain,
And Douglas is pudding, substantial and plain : 10

1 'Our landlord:' the master of St James's Coffee-house, where the doctor, and the friends he has characterised in this poem, occasionally dined.— 2 Dean: Dr Barnard, Dean of Derry, in Ireland.—3 Burke:' Mr Edmund Burke. Will:' Mr William Burke, late secretary to General Conway, and member for Bedwin. - 'Dick:' Mr Richard Burke, Collector of Granada.—

Cumberland: ' Mr Richard Cumberland, author of The West Indian,' 'The Fashionable Lover,' 'The Brothers,' and other dramatic pieces. — Dr

Our Garrick's1 a salad; for in him we see
Oil, vinegar, sugar, and saltness agree:

To make out the dinner, full certain I am,
That Ridge2 is anchovy, and Reynolds is lamb;
That Hickey's a capon; and, by the same rule,
Magnanimous Goldsmith, a gooseberry fool.
At a dinner so various, at such a repast,
Who'd not be a glutton, and stick to the last?
Here, waiter, more wine, let me sit while I'm able,
Till all my companions sink under the table;
Then, with chaos and blunders encircling my head,
Let me ponder, and tell what I think of the dead.

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20

Here lies the good dean,5 re-united to earth, Who mix'd reason with pleasure, and wisdom with mirth; If he had any faults, he has left us in doubt; At least, in six weeks I could not find 'em out; Yet some have declared, and it can't be denied 'em, That sly-boots was cursedly cunning to hide 'em.

30

Here lies our good Edmund, whose genius was such, We scarcely can praise it, or blame it, too much; Who, born for the universe, narrow'd his mind, And to party gave up what was meant for mankind; Though fraught with all learning, yet straining his throat To persuade Tommy Townshend7 to lend him a vote; Who, too deep for his hearers, still went on refining, And thought of convincing, while they thought of dining: Though equal to all things, for all things unfit; Too nice for a statesman, too proud for a wit;

16

'Douglas,' Canon of Windsor, an ingenious Scotch gentleman, who has no less distinguished himself as a citizen of the world, than a sound critic, in detecting several literary mistakes (or rather forgeries) of his countrymen; particularly Lauder on Milton, and Bower's History of the Popes. - Garrick:' David Garrick, Esq. 2 Ridge:' Counsellor John Ridge, a gentleman belonging to the Irish bar. Reynolds: ' Sir Joshua Reynolds. — Hickey: 'an eminent attorney. -Dean:' see page 37.- - • ' Edmund :' see page 37. - 7 6 7 'Tommy Townshend:' Mr T. Townshend, member for Whitchurch.

--

36

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.

39

Here lies honest William,1 whose heart was a mint, While the owner ne'er knew half the good that was in't: The pupil of impulse, it forced him along,

His conduct still right, with his argument wrong;
Still aiming at honour, yet fearing to roam,
The coachman was tipsy, the chariot drove home;
Would you ask for his merits ?—alas! he had none;
What was good was spontaneous, his faults were his own. 50
Here lies honest Richard,2 whose fate I must sigh at ;
Alas! that such frolic should now be so quiet!
What spirits were his! what wit and what whim!
Now breaking a jest, and now breaking a limb!
Now wrangling and grumbling to keep up the ball;
Now teasing and vexing, yet laughing at all.
In short, so provoking a devil was Dick,
We wish'd him full ten times a day at Old Nick ;
But, missing his mirth and agreeable vein,
As often we wish'd to have Dick back again.

Here Cumberland3 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 all faultless, his women divine,

And Comedy wonders at being so fine:
Like a tragedy queen he has dizen'd her out,

Or rather like Tragedy giving a rout.

เ

60

'William' see page 37.-2 Richard: ' Mr Richard Burke; see page 37. This gentleman having slightly fractured one of his arms and one of his legs, at different times, the doctor has rallied him on those accidents, as a kind of retributive justice for breaking his jests upon other people. - Cumberland: ' see page 37.

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69

His fools have their follies so lost in a crowd
Of virtues and feelings, that Folly grows proud;
And coxcombs, alike in their failings alone,
Adopting his portraits, are pleased 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 men's virtues, and finding them few,
Quite sick of pursuing each troublesome elf,
He grew lazy at last, and drew from himself?
Here Douglas1 retires from his toils to relax,
The scourge of impostors, the terror of quacks;
Come, all ye quack bards, and ye quacking divines,
Come, and dance on the spot where your tyrant reclines:
When satire and censure encircled his throne,

80

I fear'd for your safety, I fear'd for my own:
But now he is gone, and we want a detector,
Our Dodds2 shall be pious, our Kenricks3 shall lecture ;
Macpherson write bombast, and call it a style;
Our Townshend 5 make speeches, and I shall compile ;
New Lauders and Bowers the Tweed shall cross over,
No countryman living their tricks to discover;
Detection her taper shall quench to a spark,

90

And Scotchman meet Scotchman, and cheat in the dark.
Here lies David Garrick, describe him who can,
An abridgment of all that was pleasant in man ;
As an actor, confess'd without rival to shine;
As a wit, if not first, in the very first line:

''Douglas:' see page 37. 2 Dodds: the Rev. Dr Dodd.-Kenricks' Dr Kenrick, who read lectures at the Devil Tavern, under the title of 'The School of Shakspeare.'- Macpherson: James Macpherson, Esq., lately, from the mere force of his style, wrote down the first poet of all antiquity.Townshend: see page 38. Lauders and Bowers:' see page 38. 7Garrick:' see page 38.

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