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But now he is gone, and we want a detector,

Our * Dodds shall be pious, our † Kenricks shall lecture;

+ Macpherson write bombaft, and call it a style,
Our § Townsend make speeches, and I fhall compile ;
New || 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 David Garrick, defcribe me who can, An abridgement of all that was pleasant in man; As an actor, confeft without rival to shine;

As a wit, if not first, in the very first line :

Yet, with talents like these, and an excellent heart,
The man had his failings, a dupe to his art.
Like an ill-judging beauty, his colours he spread,
And beplafter'd with rouge, his own natural red.
On the ftage 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:

*The Rev. Dr. Dodd.

† Dr. Kenrick, who read lectures at the Devil tavern, under the title of "The School of Shakespeare."

James Macpherfon, efq; who lately, from the mere force of his ftyle, wrote down the first poet of all antiquity. || Vide page 98, ¶ Vide page 98.

§ Vide page 99.


Though fecure of our hearts, yet confoundedly fick,
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 whistle them

Of praise a mere glutton, he swallow'd what came,
And the puff of a dunce, he mistook it for fame;
'Till his relish grown callous, almost to disease,
Who pepper'd the highest, was furest to please.
But let us be candid, and speak out our mind,
If dunces applauded, he paid them in kind.
Ye * Kenricks, ye † Kellys, and ‡ Woodfalls fo grave,
What a commerce was yours, while you got and you

How did Grub-street re-echo the fhouts that you rais'd,
While he was be-Rofcius'd, and you were beprais'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 fkill,
Shall still be his flatterers, go where he will.
Old Shakespeare, receive him, with praife and with


And Beaumonts and Bens be his † Kellys above.

Vide page 102.

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

Mr. William Woodfall, printer of the Morning Chro


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Here Hickey reclines, a moft blunt, pleasant


And flander itself muft 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 mifer:
I anfwer, no, no, for he always was wiser:
Too courteous, perhaps, or obligingly flat?
His very worst foe can't accufe him of that:
Perhaps he confided in men as they go,
And fo was too foolishly honest? ah no!

Then what was his failing? come tell it, and burn



He was, could he help it? a special attorney.


Here Reynolds is laid, and, to tell you my mind, He has not left a wifer or better behind;

His pencil was ftriking, refiftless 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 moft civily fteering,
When they judg'd without fkill he was ftill hard of


When they talk'd of their Raphaels, Corregios and stuff, He shifted his trumpet, and only took snuff.

* Vide page 98.

† Ibid.

Sir Joshua Reynolds is fo remarkably deaf as to be under the neceffity of using an ear-trumpet in company.




AFTER the fourth edition of this poem was

printed, the publisher received the following epitaph on * Mr. Whitefoord, from a friend of the late doctor Goldfmith.

HERE Whitefoord reclines, and deny it who can,
Though he merrily lived, he is now a † grave man :
Rare compound of oddity, frolic and fun!
Who relish'd a joke, and rejoic'd in a pun;
Whose temper was generous, open, fincere ;
A ftranger to flatt'ry, a firanger to fear;
Who fcatter'd around wit and humour at will;
Whofe daily bons 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 fo lib'ral a mind
Should fo long be to news-paper effays confin'd!
Who perhaps to the fummit of science could foar,
Yet content "if the table he fet in a roar ;"

* Mr.Caleb Whitefoord, author of many humorous effays. † Mr. W. was fo notorious a punster, that doctor Goldfmith used to fay it was impoffible to keep him company, without being infected with the itch of punning.


Whofe talents to fill any station was fit,
Yet happy if Woodfall * confefs'd him a wit.

Ye news paper witlings! ye pert fcribbling folks!
Who copied his squibs, and re-echoed 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 bestow on his shrine;
Then ftrew all around it (you can do no less)
Cross-readings, ship-news, and mistakes of the press.

Merry Whitefoord, farewel! for thy fake I admit That a Scot may have humour, I had almost faid wit: This debt to thy mem'ry I cannot refuse, "Thou beft humour'd man with the worst humour'd "mufe."

* Mr. H. S. Woodfall, printer of the Public Advertiser. Mr. Whitefoord has frequently indulged the town with humorous pieces under thofe titles in the Public Advertiser.



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