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OF old, when Scarron his companions invited,

Each guest brought his dish, and the feast was united.
If our
* landlord fupplies us with beef, and with fish,
Let each guest bring himself, and he brings the best

dish :


Our † dean shall be venison, just fresh from the plains;
Our Burke shall be tongue, with a garnish of brains;

Our § Will shall be wild fowl, of excellent flavour,
And I Dick with his pepper shall heighten their favour:

* The master of the St. James's coffee-houfe, where the doctor, and the friends he has characterized in this poem, occafionally dined.

+ Doctor Barnard, dean of Derry in Ireland.

Mr. Edmund Burke.

§ Mr. William Burke, late fecretary to general Conway, and member for Bedwin.

Mr. Richard Burke, collector of Granada.



Our Cumberland's fweet-bread its place shall obtain,


And † Douglas is pudding, substantial and plain ;
Our Garrick's a fallad; for in him we fee
Oil, vinegar, fugar, and faltness agree:


To make out the dinner, full certain I am,

That Ridge is anchovy, and || Reynolds is lamb;
That Hickey's a capon, and, by the fame rule,
Magnanimous Goldsmith, a goofberry fool.
At a dinner fo various, at fuch a repaft,
Who'd not be a glutton, and ftick to the last?
Here, waiter, more wine, let me fit while I'm able,
'Till all my companions fink under the table;
Then, with chaos and blunders encircling my head,
Let me ponder, and tell what I think of the dead,

* Mr. Richard Cumberland, author of the West-Indian, Fashionable Lover, the Brothers, and other dramatic pieces.

+ Doctor Douglas, canon of Windfor, an ingenious Scotch gentleman, who has no lefs diftinguished himself as a citizen of the world, than a found critic, in detecting feveral literary mistakes (or rather forgeries) of his countrymen ; particularly Lauder on Milton, and Bower's Hiftory of the Popes.

David Garrick, efq;

Counsellor John Ridge, a gentleman belonging to the Irish bar.

|| Sir Joshua Reynolds.

An eminent attorney.


Here lies the good * dean, re-united to earth,

Who mixt reafon with pleasure, and wisdom with mirth :

If he had any faults, he has left us in doubt,

At least, in fix weeks, I could not find 'em out; Yet fome have declar'd, and it can't be denied 'em, That fly-boots was curfedly cunning to hide 'em.

Here lies our good † Edmund, whofe genius was fuch,

We scarcely can praise it, or blame it too much;
Who, born for the univerfe, narrow'd his mind,
And to party gave up what was meant for mankind.
Though fraught with all learning, yet ftraining his

To perfuadet Tommy Townshend to lend him a vote; Who, too deep for his hearers, ftill 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:
For a patriot too cool; for a drudge, difobedient;
And too fond of the right to pursue the expedient.
In fhort, 'twas his fate, unemploy'd, or in place, fir,
To eat mutton cold, and cut blocks with a razor.

* Vide page 97.

† Ibid.

Mr. T. Townshend, member for Whitchurch,

H 2


Here lies honeft * William, whofe heart was a mint,

While the owner ne'er knew half the good that was in't;

The pupil of impulfe, it forc'd him along,
His conduct ftill right, with his argument wrong;
Still aiming at honour, yet fearing to roam,
The coachman was tipfey, the chariot drove home;
Would you ask for his merits? alas! he had none;
What was good was fpontaneous, his faults were his


Here lies honeft Richard, whofe fate I muft figh at; Alas, that fuch frolic should now be fo quiet! What fpirits were his! what wit and what whim!

Now breaking a jeft, and now breaking a limb! Now wrangling and grumbling to keep up the ball! Now teazing and vexing, yet laughing at all! In fhort, fo provoking a devil was Dick,

That we wish'd him full ten times a day at old nick; But, miffing his mirth and agreeable vein,

As often we wish'd to have Dick back again.

*Vide page 97.

+ Mr. Richard Burke; vide page 97. This gentleman having flightly fractured one of his arms and legs, at different times, the doctor has rallied him on thofe accidents, as a kind of retributive juftice for breaking his jefts upon other people.


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Here Cumberland 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 are all faultless, his women divine,
And comedy wonders at being fo fine;

Like a tragedy queen he has dizen'd her out,
Or rather like tragedy giving a rout.

His fools have their follies fo loft in a crowd
Of virtues and feelings, that folly grows proud,
And coxcombs alike in their failings alone,
Adopting his portraits are pleas'd 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 mens virtues, and finding them few,
Quite fick of pursuing each troublesome elf,
He grew lazy at laft, and drew from himself?

Here Douglas retires from his toils to relax,
The scourge of impoftors, the terror of quacks:

Come, all ye quack bards, and ye quacking divines,

Come, and dance on the spot where your tyrant re-

When fatire and cenfure encircled his throne,
I fear'd for your fafety, I fear'd for my own;

* Vide page 98.

H 3

† Ibid.


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