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W
Dock OLIVER GOLDSMITH


THE
Poetical Works
OF
DR. OLIVER GOLDSMITH,
RETALIATION,
MISCELLANIES,
CONTAINING HIS
DESERTED VILLAGE,
TRAVELLER,
HERMIT,
bea
PROLOGUES,
EPILOGUES,
SONGS,
ELEGIES,
EPITAPHS, &c. &c.
To which is prefixed
THE LIFE OF THE AUTHOR.
Dublin:
PRINTED BY CHARLES DOWNES,
3, Whitefriar-Street.
1802.


THE NEW YORK
PUBLIC LIBRARY
26588B
ASTOR, LENOX AND
TILDEN FOUNDATIONS
1939
L


U
THE
LIFE
O F
DR. OLIVER GOLDSMITH. †
OLIVER GOLDSMITH, fon of the Reverend
Charles Goldſmith, was born at Elphin, in the county
of Rofcommon in Ireland, in the year 1729. His
father had four fons, of whom Oliver was the third.
After being well inftructed in the claffics, at the
fchool of Mr. Hughes, he was admitted a fizer in
Trinity-college, Dublin, on the 11th of June, 1744
While he refided there, he exhibited no fpecimens of
that genius, which in his maturer years, raiſed his
character fo high. On the 27th of February, 1746,
O. S. (two years after the regular time) he obtained the
degree
In thefe Memoirs, which were publiſhed in London foon
after the death of Dr. Goldſmith, were feveral miſtakes, with
respect to our Author's age, the time of his admiffion into the
college of Dublin, &c. which are here corrected from accurate
information.


(iv)
degree of Bachelor of Arts. Soon after he turned his
thoughts to the profeffion of Phyfic; and after at
tending fome courfes of anatomy in Dublin, pro-
ceeded to Edinburgh, in the year 1751, where he
ftudied the feveral branches of medicine under the
different profeffors in that univerfity. His beneficent
difpofition foon involved him in unexpected difficul-
ties; and he was obliged precipitately to leave Scotland,
in confequence of having engaged himſelf to pay a
confiderable fum of money for a fellow-ftudent.
A few days after, about the beginning of the year
1754, he arrived at Sunderland, near Newcaſtle, where
he was arreſted at the fuit of one Barclay a taylor in
Edinburgh, to whom he had given fecurity for his
friend. By the friendſhip of Mr. Laughlin Maclane
and Dr. Sleigh, who were then in the college, he was
foon delivered out of the hands of the bailiff, and
took his paffage on board a Dutch ſhip to Rotterdam,
where, after a fhort ftay, he proceeded to Bruffels.
He then vifited great part of Flanders; and after
paffing fome time at Strafbourg and Louvain, where
he obtained a degree of Bachelor in Phyfic, he accom-
panied an Engliſh gentleman to Geneva.
It is undoubtedly a fact, that this ingenius, unfor.
tunate man made moft part of his tour on foot. * He
left
Countries wear different appearances to travellers of
different circumſtances. A man who is whirled through
Europe in a poft. chaife, and the pilgrim who walks the grand
tour


(v)
left England with very little money; and being of a
philofophical turn, and at that time poffeffing a body
capable of fuftaining every fatigue, and a heart not
eafily terrified by danger, he became an enthuſiaſt
to the defign he had formed of ſeeing the manners
of different countries. He had fome knowledge of
the French language, and of mufic; he played tole-
rably well on the German flute; which from an
amuſement, became at fome times the means of
fubfiftence. His learning produced him an hofpitable
reception at most of the religious houfes that he
vifited; and his mufic made him welcome to the
peaſants of Flanders and Germany. "Whenever
I approached a peaſant's houſe towards night fall,"
he uſed to fay, "I played one of my most merry
tunes, and that generally procured me not only a
lodging, but fubfiftence for the next day but in
truth" (his conftant expreffion) " I muft own, when.
ever I attempted to entertain perfons of a higher
rank, they always thought my performance odious,
and never made me any return for my endeavours to
pleaſe them."
:
On his arrival at Geneva, he was recommended
as a proper perſon for a traveling tutor to a young
man, who had been unexpectedly left a confiderable
fum of money by his uncle, Mr. S * **** *. This
youth,
tour on foot, will form very different conclufions. Haud
inexpertus loquor."
Goldſmith's "Prefent State of Learning in Europe," 1759.


(vi)
youth, who was articled to an attorney, on receipt
of his fortune determined to fee the world; and, on
his engaging with his preceptor, made a provifo, that
he fhould be permitted to govern himſelf; and our
traveller foon found his pupil underſtood the art of
directing in money concerns extremely well, as avarice
was his prevailing paffion.
During Goldfith's continuance in Switzerland,
he affiduouſly cultivated his poetical talent, of which
he had given fome ftriking proofs at the college of
Edinburgh. It was from hence he fent the firft
fketch of his delightful epiftle, called the Traveller,
to his brother Henry, a clergyman in Ireland.
From Geneva Mr. Goldfmith and his pupil pro-
ceeded to the fouth of France, where the young
man, upon fome difagreement with his preceptor,
paid him the fmall part of his falary which was
due, and embarked at Marſeilles for England. Our
wanderer was left once more upon the world at large,
and paffed through a number of difficulties in tra-
verfing the greateſt part of France. At length, his
curiofity being gratified, he bent his courfe towards
England, and arrived at Dover, the beginning of the
winter, in the year 1759.
His finances were fo low on h's return to England,
that he with difficuity got to the metropolis, his whole
ftock of cash amounting to no more than a few
half-pence!


(vii)
half-pence! An entire ftranger in London, his mind
was filled with the moſt gloomy reflections in confe-
quence of his embarraffed fituation! He applied to
feveral Apothecaries in hopes of being received in the
capacity of a journeyman, but his broad Iriſh accent,
and the uncouthneſs of his appearance, occafioned
him to meet with infult from most of the medicinal
tribe. The next day, however, a chymift near Fiſh-
ftreet, ftruck with his forlorn condition, and the
fimplicity of his manner, took him into his labora-
tory, where he continued 'till he difcovered that his
old friend Dr. Sleigh was in London. That gentle-
man received him with the warnieft affection, and
liberally invited him to fhare his purfe 'till fome eſta-
blifhment could be procured for him. Goldfmith,
unwilling to be a burden to his friend, a fhort
time after eagerly embraced an offer which was made
him to affift the late Reverend Dr. Milner, in inſtruct-
ing the young gentlemen at the Academy at Peck-
ham; and acquitted himfelf greatly to the Doctor's
fatisfaction for a fhort time; but, having obtained
fome reputation by the criticifins he had written in
the Monthly Review, Mr. Griffith, the principal
proprietor, engaged him in the compilation of it;
and, refolving to purfue the profeffion of writing,
he returned to London, as the mart where abilities
of every kind were fure of meeting diftinction and
reward. Here he determined to adopt a plan of the
ſtrictest economy, and at the clofe of the year 1759,
took


(viii)
took lodgings in Green-Arbour-court in the Old
Bailey, where he wrote feveral ingenious pieces. The
late Mr. Newbery, who, at that time gave great
encouragement to men of literary abilities, became a
kind of patron to our young author, and introduced
him as one of the writers in the Public Ledger, in
which his Citizen of the World originally appeared,
under the title of "Chineſe Letters." *
0
Fortune now ſeemed to take fome notice of a man
fhe had long neglected. The fimplicity of his cha-
racter, the integrity of his heart, and the merit of
his productions, made his company very acceptable
to a number of reſpectable perſons, and, about the
middle of the year 1762, he emerged from his mean
apartments near the Old Bailey to the politer air of
the Temple, where he took handſome chambers, and
lived in a genteel ftyle. The publication of his
Traveller, his Vicar of Wakefield, and his Hiftory
of England, was followed by the performance of his
comedy
C
* During this time (according to another account) he wrote
for the British Magazine, of which Dr. Smollet was then
Editor, moſt of thofe Effys and Tales, which he afterwards
collected and publiſhed in a ſeparate volume. He also wrote
occafionally for the Critical Review; and it was the merit
which he difcovered in criticifing a deſpicable tranſlation of
Ovid's "Fafti" by a pedantic fchool-mafter, and his "En-
quiry into the prefent State of Learning in Europe," which
first introduced him to the acquaintance of Dr. Smollet, who
recommended him to feveral literati, and to most of the
bookfellers by whom he was afterwards patronized.
d


me
SCH
TOR?
( ix ), ·
comedy of The Good-natured Man at Covent Garden
theatre, and placed him in the firſt rank of the
poets of the preſent age.
Another feature in his character we cannot help
laying before the reader: Previous to the publication
of his Deferted Village, the bookfeller had given
ut him a note for one hundred guineas for the copy;
me which the Doctor mentioned, a few hours after, to
air one of his friends, who obferved it was a very great
5, fum for fo fhort a performance. "In truth," replied
a
f Goldſmith," I think fo too, it is much more than
if the honeft man can afford, or the piece is worth; I
fE have not been eaſy fince I received it; I will there-
ned fore go back and return him his note:" which he
actually did, and left it entirely to the bookfeller to
the pay him according to the profits produced by the fale
of the poem, which turned out very confiderable.
vrom
ard
ment
Our Doctor, as he was now univerſally called, had
a conftant levee of his diftreft countrymen, whoſe
wants, as far as he was able, he always relieved; and
he had been often known to leave himſelf even
without a guinea, in order to fupply the neceffities of
others.
During the laft rehearſal of his comedy, intitled,
She Stoops to Conquer, which Mr. Coleman thought
1
En would not fucceed, on the Doctor's objecting to the
-ich repetition of one of Tony Lumpkin's fpeeches,
ho
b
being


( x )
being apprehenfive it might injure the play, the
Manager, with great keeneſs replied, "Pha, my
dear Doctor, do not be fearful of Squibs, when we
have been fitting almoſt theſe two hours upon a
barrel of gunpowder." The piece, however, con-
trary to Mr. Coleman's expectation, was received
with uncommon applaufe by the audience; and
Goldfmith's pride was fo hurt by the ſeverity of the
above obfervation, that it entirely put an end to
his friendſhip for the gentleman who made it.
Notwithſtanding the great fuccefs of his pieces, by
fome of which, it is afferted upon good authority, he
cleared 1800l. in one year, his circumſtances were
by no means in a profperous fituation! partly owing
to the liberality of his difpofition, 'and' partly to an
unfortunate habit he had contracted of gaming, with
the arts of which he was very little acquainted, and
confequently became the prey of thoſe who were
unprincipled enough to take advantage of his igno-
rance.
Juft before his death he had formed a deſign for
executing an Univerfal Dictionary of Arts and
Sciences, the profpectus of which he actually printed
and diftributed among his acquaintance. In this
work feveral of his literary friends (particularly Sir
Joſhua Reynolds, Doctor Johnſon, Mr. Beauclerc
and Mr. Garrick) had promifed to affift, and to
furnish him with articles on different fubjects. He
had


(xi)
had entertained the moft fanguine expectations from
the fuccefs of it. The undertaking, however, did
not meet with that encouragement from the book-
fellers which he had imagined it would undoubtedly
receive; and he uſed to lament this circumſtance
almoſt to the laft hour of his exiſtence.
He had been for ſome years afflicted, at different
times, with a violent ftranguary, which contributed
not a little to imbitter the latter part of his life;
and which, united with the vexations he fuffered
upon other occafions, brought on a kind of habitual
defpondency. In this unhappy difpofition he was
attacked by a nervous fever, which being improperly
treated, terminated in his diffolution on the 4th
day of April, 1774, in the forty-fifth year of his
age. His friends, who were very numerous and re-
fpectable, had determined to bury him in Weft-
minſter abbey, where a tablet was to have been
erected to his memory. His paul was to have been
fupported by Lord Shelburne, Lord Louth, Sir Joſhua
Reynolds, the Hon. Mr. Beauclerc, Mr. Edmond
Burke and Mr. Garrick; but from fome unaccount-
able circumftances this defign was dropped, and his
remains were privately depofited in the Temple
burial ground. *
b 2
As
* A ſubſcription, however, has fince been raiſed by his
friends, to defray the expenfe of a marble monument which is
now executed by Mr. Nollikens, an eminent ſtatuary in
London


(xii)
As to his character it is ftrongly illuftrated by Mr.
Pope's line,
"In wit a man, fimplicity a child."
The learned leiſure he loved to enjoy was too often
interrupted by diftreffes which aroſe from the openness
of his temper, and which ſometimes threw him into
loud fits of paffion; but this impetuofity was cor.
rected by a moment's reflection, and his fervants
have
London, and is placed in Weſtminſter-abbey, between Gay's
monument and the Duke of Argyle's, in the poet's corner,
with the following Latin inſcription, written by his friend
Dr. Samuel Johnſon:
OLIVARII GOLDSMITH,
POETE, PHYSICI, HISTORICI,
QUI NULLUM FERE SCRIBENDI GENUS,
NON TETIGIT,
NULLUM QUOD TETIGIT NON ORNAVIT:
SIVE RISUS ESSENT MOVENDI,
SIVE LACRIMÆ,
AFFECTUUM POTENS AT LENIS DOMINATOR:
INGENIO SUBLIMIS, VIVIDUS, VERSATILIS,
ORATIONE GRANDIS, NITIDUS,
VENUSTUS:
HOC MONUMENTO MEMORIAM COLUIT
SODALIUM AMOR
AMICORUM FIDES,
LECTORUM VENERATIO.
IN HIBERNIA NATUS MDCCXXIX
ELFINIE
EBLANE LITERIS ISTITUTUS:
LONDINI OBIIT MDCCLXXIV.


(xiii)
have been known upon theſe occafions, purpoſely
to throw themſelves in his way, that they might profit
by it immediately after; for he who had the good
fortune to be reproved was certain of being rewarded
for it. His difappointments at other times made him
peevish and fullen, and he has often left a party of
convivial friends abruptly in the evening, in order
to go home and brood over his misfortunes.
The univerſal eſteem in which his poems are held,
and the repeated pleaſure they give in the perufal, are
ftriking proofs of their merit. He was a ftudious and
correct obſerver of nature, happy in the ſelection of
his images, in the choice of his ſubjects, and in
the harmony of his verfification; and, though his
embarraffed fituation prevented him from putting the
laft hand to many of his productions, his Hermit,
his Traveller, and his Deferted Village, bid fair to
claim a place among the moſt finiſhed pieces in
the English language.
As different accounts have been given of this inge-
nious man, the Writer of thefe anecdotes cannot
conclude without declaring, that they are all founded
upon facts, and collected by one who lived with
him upon the moſt friendly footing for a great num-
ber of years, and never felt any forrow more fenfibly
than that which was occafioned by his death.


T
ON THE
DEATH
ог
DR. GOLDSMITH,
BY W. WOTY.
ADIEU, fweet bard! to each fine feeling true,
Thy virtues many, and thy foibles few;
Thofe form'd to charm e'en vicious minds,—and thele
With harmleſs mirth the focial foul to pleaſe.
Another's woe thy heart could always melt :
None gave more free,—for none more deeply felt.
Sweet bard, adieu! thy own harmonious lays
Have ſculptur'd out thy monument of praiſe :
Yes, thefe furvive to time's remoteit day;
While drops the buſt, and boastful tombs decay.
Reader, if number'd in the mufes' train,
Go, tune the lyre, and imitate his ſtrain;
But, if no poet thou, reverfe the plan,
Depart in peace, and imitate the man.


POEMS
BY.
DR. GOLDSMITH.
7


** **


A
PROLOGUE
Written and Spoken by
THE POET LABERIUS,
A Roman Knight whom CESAR forced upon the Stage.
PRESERVED BY MACROBIUS.
*
WHAT! no way left to fhun the inglorious ſtage,
And fave from infamy my finking age.
Scarce half alive, opprefs'd with many a year,
What in the name of dotage drives me here?
A time there was, when glory was my guide,
Nor force nor fraud could turn my ſteps afide;
Unaw'd by pow'r, and unappal'd by fear,
With honeft thrift I held my honour dear:
A
But
* This Tranflation was firſt printed in one of our Author's
earliest works, "The prefent State of Learning in Europe."
12mo. 1759


2
But this vile hour difperfes all my ftore,
And all
my
hoard of honour is no more;
For ah! too partial to my life's decline,
Cæfar perfuades, fubmiffion must be mine;
Him I obey, whom Heav'n itſelf obeys,
Hopeleſs of pleafing, yet inclined to pleaſe.
Here then at once I welcome ev'ry ſhame,
And cancel at threeſcore a life of fame;
No more my titles fhall my children tell,
The old buffoon will fit my name as well;
This day beyond its term my fate extends,
For life is ended when our honour ends.


THE
DOUBLE TRANSFORMATION.
A TALE.
SECLUDED from domeftic ſtrife,
Jack Book-worm led a college life;
A fellowship at twenty-five;
Made him the happieſt man alive;
He drank his glafs and crack'd his joke,
And freſhmen wondered as he ſpoke.
Such pleaſures unallay'd with care,
Could any accident impair?
Could Cupid's fhaft at length transfix,
Our ſwain arriv'd at thirty-fix?
O had the archer ne'er come down
Το ravage in a country town!
Or Flavia been content to ſtop
At triumphs in a Fleet-ſtreet ſhop;
O had her eyes forgot to blaze!
Or Jack had wanted eyes to gaze;
O!-But let exclamation ceaſe,
Her prefence baniſh'd all his peace.
So with decorum all things carry'd;
Mifs frown'd, and bluſh'd, and then was-married.
A 2
Need


4
Need we expoſe to vulgar fight
The raptures of the bridal night?
Need we intrude on hallow'd ground,
Or draw the curtains, clos'd around?
Let it ſuffice, that each had charms :
He clafp'd a goddeſs in his arms;
And though ſhe felt his ufage rough,
Yet in a man 'twas well enough,
The honey-moon like light'ning flew :
The fecond brought its tranſports too.
A third, a fourth, was not amifs;
The fifth was friendflip mix'd with bliſs;
But, when a twelvemonth pafs'd away,
Jack found his goddeſs made of clay;
Found half the charms that deck'd her face
Arofe from powder, ſhreds, or lace;
But ftill the worſt remain'd behind,
That very face had robb'd her mind;
Skill'd in no other arts was ſhe,
But dreffing, patching, repartee;
And just as humour rofe or fell,
By turns a flattern or a belle.
'Tis true fhe dreſs'd with modern grace,
Half-naked at a ball or race;
But when at home, at board or bed,
Five greafy night-caps wrap'd her head.
Could fo much beauty condefcend
To be a dull domeftic friend?
Could


5
Could any curtain lectures bring
To decency fo fine a thing?
In fhort, by night, 'twas fits or fretting;
By day, 'twas gadding or coquetting.
Fond to be ſeen, ſhe kept a bevy
Of powder'd coxcombs at her levy:
The 'fquire and captain took their ſtations,
And twenty other near relations;
Jack fuck'd his pipe, and often broke
A figh in fuffocating ſmoke;
While all their hours were paſs'd between
Infulting repartee or ſpleen.
2
Thus as her faults each day were known,
He thinks her features coarfer grown ;
He fancies every vice fhe fhews,
Or thins her lip, or points her noſe:
Whenever rage or envy riſe,
How wide her mouth, how wild her eyes!
He knows not how, but fo it is,
Her face is grown a knowing phiz;
And, though her fops are wond'rous civil,
He thinks her ugly as the devil.
Now, to perplex the ravell❜d nooze,
As each a different way purſues,
While fullen or loquacious ftrife
Promis'd to hold them on for life,
That dire difeafe, whofe ruthlefs power,
Withers the beauty's tranfient flower:
Lo!


6
Lo! the fimall-pox, whofe horrid glare
Levell❜d its terrors at the fair;
And, rifling every youthful grace,
Left but the remnant of a face.
The glaſs, grown hateful to her fight,
Reflected now a perfect fright:
Each former art ſhe vainly tries
To bring back luftre to her eyes.
In vain ſhe tries her paſte and creams,
To ſmooth her ſkin, or hide its feams;
Her country beaux and city cousins,
Lovers no more, flew off by dozens:
The 'fquire himfelf was feen to yield,
And ev❜n the captain quit the field.
Poor madam now condemn'd to hack
The reft of life with anxious Jack,
Perceiving others fairly flown,
Attempted pleafing him alone.
Jack foon was dazzled to behold
Her prefent face furpaſs the old;
With modefty her cheeks are dy'd,
Humility difplaces pride;
For taudry finery is feen
A perfon ever neatly clean;
No more prefuming on her fway,
She learns good-nature every day;
Serenely gay, and ſtrict in duty,
Jack finds his wife a perfect beauty.


A NEW
SIMILE,
IN THE MANNER OF SWIFT.
LONG had I fought in vain to find
A likeneſs for the fcribbling kind:
The modern fcribbling kind, who write,
In wit, and fenfe, and nature's fpite:
'Till reading, I forget what day on,
A chapter out of Tooke's Pantheon,
I think I met with fomething there,
To fuit my purpoſe to a hair:
But let us not proceed too furious;
Firſt pleaſe to turn to God Mercurius;
You'll find him pictur'd at full length
In book the fecond, page the tenth:
The ftrefs of all my proofs on him I lay,
And now proceed we to our Simile.
Imprimis, pray obferve his hat;
Wings upon either fide-mark that.
Well! what is it from thence we gather?
Why thefe denote a brain of feather.
A brain of feather! very right,
With wit that's flighty, learning light;
Such


8
Such as to modern bards decreed:
A juft compariſon-proceed.
In the next place, his feet peruſe,
Wings grow again from both his fhoes;
Defign'd, no doubt, their part to bear,
And waft his godſhip through the air;
And here
my fimile unites,
For in a modern poet's flights,
I'm ſure it might be juſtly ſaid,
His feet are uſeful as his head.
Laftly, vouchfafe t'obſerve his hand,
Fill'd with a fnake-incircled wand;
By claffick authors, term'd caduceus,
And highly fam'd for ſeveral uſes.
To wit-moft wond'roufly endu'd,
No poppy water half ſo good;
For let folks only get a touch,
Its foporific virtue's ſuch,
Tho' ne'er fo much awake before,
That quickly they begin to fnore.
Add too, what certain writers tell,
With this he drives mens fouls to hell.
Now to apply, begin we then;
His wand's a modern author's pen;
The ferpents round about it twin'd,
Denote him of the reptile kind;
Denote the rage with which he writes,
His frothy flaver, venom❜d bites;
An


9
An equal femblance ſtill to keep,
Alike too both conduce to fleep.
This diff'rence only as the God
Drove fouls to Tart'rus with his rod,
With his goofequill the fcribbling elf
Inftead of others, damns himſelf.
And here my fimile almoft tript,
Yet grant a word by way of poſtſcript.
Moreover, Merc'ry had a failing:
Well! what of that? out with it-ſtealing;
In which all modern bards agree,
Being each as great a thief as he :
But ev'n this deity's exiſtence,
Shall lend my fimile affiftance.
Our modern bards! why what a pox
Are they but ſenſeleſs ſtones and blocks.
B


A
DESCRIPTION
OF AN
AUTHOR's BED CHAMBER.
WHERE the Red Lion ſtaring o'er the way,
Invites each paffing ſtranger that can pay;
Where Culvert's butt, and Parfon's black champaign,
Regale the drabs and bloods of Drury-lane;
There in a lonely room, from bailiffs fnug;
The Mufe found Scroggen ftretch'd beneath a rug;
A window patch'd with paper, lent a ray,
That dimly fhew'd the ſtate in which he lay ;
The fanded floor that grits beneath the tread;
The humid wall with paltry pictures ſpread:
The royal game of goofe was there in view,
And the twelve rules the royal martyr drew ;
The feafons, fram'd with lifting, found a place,
And brave prince William fhew'd his lamp black face:
The morn was cold, he views with keen defire
The rufty grate unconſcious of a fire:
With beer and milk arrears, the frieze was fcor'd,
And five crack'd tea cups drefs'd the chimney board;
A night-cap deck'd his brows inſtead of bay,
A cap by nighta ftocking all the day!


THE HERMIT.
LETTER.
To the Printer of the St. James's Chronicle.
SIR,
June, 1767.
As there is nothing I diflike fo much as news-
paper controverfy, particularly upon trifles, permit
me to be as concife as poffible in informing a cor-
refpondent of yours, that I recommended Blainville's
Travels, becauſe I thought the book was a good
one; and I think fo ftill. I faid, I was told by
the bookfeller that it was then firſt publiſhed; but
in that, it ſeems, I was mifinformed, and my
reading was not extenfive enough to fet me right.
Another correfpondent of yours accuíes me of
having taken a ballad, I publifhed fome time ago,
from one* by the ingenious Mr. Percy. I do not
think there is any great refemblance between the
two pieces in queftion.-If there be any, his ballad
is taken from mine. I read it to Mr. Percy, fome
years ago; and he (as we both confidered theſe
things as trifles at beft) told me, with his ufual
B 2
good
* The Friar of Orders Gray." Reliq. of Anc. Poetry,"
vol. I p. 243.


12
good humour, the next time I ſaw him, that he
had taken my plan to form the fragments of
Shakeſpeare into a ballad of his own. He then
read me his little Cento, if I may fo call it, and I
highly approved it.-Such petty anecdotes as theſe
are ſcarce worth printing: and, were it not for the
bufy difpofition of fome of your correſpondents,
the public ſhould never have known that he owes
me the hint of his ballad, or that I am obliged to
his friendſhip and learning for communications of
a much more important nature.
I am, Sir,
Yours, &c.
OLIVER GOLDSMITH.


66
THE HERMIT.
A BALLAD.
TURN,
URN, gentle Hermit of the dale,
"And guide my lonely way,
"To where yon taper cheers the vale,
"With hoſpitable ray.
"For here forlorn and loft I tread,
"With fainting ſteps and flow:
"Where wilds immeafurably ſpread,
"Seem length'ning as I go."
"Forbear, my fon," the Herinit cries,
"To tempt the dang'rous gloom;
"For yonder faithleſs phantom flies
"To lure thee to thy doom.
"Here to the houſeleſs child of want,
"My door is ftill;
open
"And tho' my portion is but fcant,
"I give it with good will.
"Then turn to night, and freely ſhare
"Whate'er my cell beftows;
"6
My rufhy couch and frugal fare,
"My bleffing and repoſe.
"No


14
"No flocks, that range the valley free,
"To flaughter I condemn :
"Taught by that power that pities me,
"I learn to pity them:
"But from the mountain's graffy fide
"A guiltless feaſt I bring:
"A fcrip with herbs and fruits ſupply'd,
"And water from the ſpring..
"Then, pilgrim, turn, thy cares forego;
"All earth-born cares are wrong:
"Man wants but little here below,
66 Nor wants that little long."
Soft as the dew from heaven defcends,
His gentle accents fell:
The modeft ftranger lowly bends,.
And follows to the cell.
Far in a wilderneſs obfcure
The lonely manfion lay;
A refuge to the neighb'ring poor,
And ftrangers led aftray.
No ftores beneath its humble thatch
Requir'd a mafter's care;
The wicket, op'ning with a latch,
Receiv'd the harmleſs pair.
And


15
And
now,
when bufy crowds retire
To take their evening reſt,
The Hermit trimm'd his little fire,
And cheer'd his penſive gueſt:
And ſpread his vegetable ſtore,
And gaily preſt, and ſinil'd;
And, ſkill'd in legendary lore,
The ling'ring hours beguil❜d.
Around, in fympathetic mirth,
Its tricks the kitten tries;
The cricket chirrups in the hearth;
The crackling faggot flies.
But nothing could a charm impart
To footh the ſtranger's woe;
For grief was heavy at his heart,
And tears began to flow.
His rifing cares the Hermit fpy'd,
With anfw'ring care oppreft:
"And whence, unhappy youth !" he cry'd,
"The forrows of thy breaſt?
"From better habitations ſpurn'd,
"Reluctant doſt thou rove;
"Or grieve for friendſhip unreturn'd,
"Or unregarded love?
Alas!


16
1
"Alas! the joys that fortune brings,
"Are trifling, and decay;
"And thoſe who prize the paltry things,
"More trifling ftill than they.
"And what is friendſhip but a name,
"A charm that lulls to fleep;
"A fhade that follows wealth or fame,
"And leaves the wretch to weep?
"And love is ſtill an emptier found,
"The modern fair one's jeſt:
"On earth unfeen, or only found
"To warm the turtle's neft.
"For fhame, fond youth, thy forrows huſh,
"And fpurn the fex," he ſaid:
But while he spoke, a rifing bluſh
His love-lorn gueſt betray'd.
Surpriz'd he fees new beauties rife,
Swift mantling to the view;
Like colours o'er the morning ſkies,
As bright, as tranfient too.
The bafhful look, the rifing breaſt,
Alternate ſpread alarms :
The lovely ſtranger ſtands confeft
A maid in all her charms.
"And,


17
"And ah! forgive a ſtranger rude,
"A wretch forlorn, fhe cry'd:
"Whoſe feet unhallow'd thus intrude
"Where heaven and you refide.
"But let a maid thy pity fhare,
"Whom love has taught to ſtray;
"Who feels for reft, but finds deſpair
"Companion of her way:
"My father liv'd befide the Tyne,
"A wealthy lord was he;
"And all his wealth was mark'd as mine,
"He had but only me.
"To win me from his tender arms,
"Unnumber'd fuitors came;
"Who prais'd me for imputed charms,
"And felt, or feign'd a flame.
"Each hour a mercenary crowd
"With richeſt proffers ftrove:
"Among the reft young Edwin bow'd,
"But never talk'd of love.
"In humble, fimpleft habit clad,
"No wealth or power had he:
"Wiſdom and worth were all he had,
"But thefe were all to me.
C
«The


-18
"The bloffom op'ning to the day,
"The dews of heav'n refin'd
"Could nought of purity difplay,
"To emulate his mind.
"The dew, the bloffoms of the tree,
"With charms inconftant fhine;
"Their charms were his, but, woe to me,
"Their conftancy was mine.
"For ftill I tried each fickle art,
Importunate and vain;
66
"And while his paffion touch'd my heart,
"I triumph'd in his pain.
"Till, quite dejected with my ſcorn,
"He left me to my pride;
"And fought a folitude forlorn,
"In fecret, where he died.
"But mine the forrow, mine the fault,
"And well my life fhall pay ;
"I'll feek the folitude he fought,
"And ftretch me where he lay.
"And there forlorn, defpairing hid,
"I'll lay me down and die:
"'Twas fo for me that Edwin did,
"And fo for him will I."
- 66
"Forbid


19
"Forbid it, heaven!" the Hermit cried,
And clafp'd her to his breaft:
The wond'ring fair-one turn'd to chide;-
'Twas Edwin's felf that preſt.
"Turn, Angelina, ever dear,
"My charmer turn to fee
TAM
"Thy own, thy long loft Edwin here,
"Reftor'd to love and thee.
"Thus let me hold thee to my heart,
"And ev'ry care refign,
"And fhall we never, never part,
"My life-my all that's mine?
"No, never, from this hour to part,
"We'll live and love fo true:
J 1
"The figh that rends thy conftant heart,
"Shall break thy Edwin's too.
1
8
A
+34
#


AN
ELEGY
ON THE
DEATH OF A MAD DOG.
GOOD people all, of ev'ry ſort,
Give ear unto my fong;
And if you find it wond'rous ſhort,
It cannot hold you long.
In Iflington there was a man,
Of whom the world might ſay,
That ſtill a godly race he ran,
Whene'er he went to pray.
A kind and gentle heart he had,
To comfort friends and foes;
The naked ev'ry day he clad,
When he put on his cloaths.
And in that town a dog was found,
As many dogs there be,
Both mungrel, puppy, whelp and hound,
And curs of low degree.
This


21
This dog and man at firſt were friends;
Bur when the pique began,
The dog, to gain his private ends,
Went mad and bit the man.
Around from all the neighb'ring ſtreets,
The wond'ring neighbours ran,
And ſwore the dog had loft his wits,
To bite fo good a man.
The wound it feem'd both fore and fad,
To ev'ry chriſtian eye;
And while they fwore the dog was mad,
They fwore the man would die.
But foon a wonder came to light,
That ſhew'd the rogues they lied,
The man recover'd of the bite,
The dog it was that dy'd.


1
4
STANZAS
L
ON
1
18
WOMAN.
I
F
WHEN lovely woman ſtoops to folly,
And finds too late that men betray,
What charm can footh her melancholy,
What art can wash her guilt away?
The only art her guilt to cover,
To hide her ſhame from ev'ry eye,
To give repentance to her lover;
And wring his bofom-——is to die.
11


THE
GIFT:
TO IRIS,
IN BOW-STREET.
REET?
COVENT-GARDEN.
SAY, cruel Iris, pretty rake,
Dear mercenary beauty,
What annual off'ring ſhall I´make
Expreffive of my duty?
My heart, a victim to thine eyes,
Should I at once deliver,
Say, would the angry Fair One prize
The gift, who flights the giver?
A bill, a jewel, watch or toy,
My rivals give and let 'em.
If gems or gold, impart a joy,
I'll give them-when I get 'em.
I'll give but not the full-blown roſe,
Or rofe-bud more in faſhion;
Such fhort-liv'd off'rings but difclofe
A tranfitory paffion.
I'll give thee fomething yet unpaid,
Not lefs fincere than civil:
I'll give thee-ah! too charming maid,
I'll give thee to the Devil.


EPITAPH
ΟΝ
DR. PARNEL.
THIS tomb, infcrib'd to gentle PARNEL's name,
May fpeak our gratitude, but not his fame,
What heart but feels his fweetly moral lay,
That leads to truth thro' pleaſure's flow'ry way?
Celeſtial themes confefs'd his tuneful aid;
And heav'n, that lent him genius, was repaid.
Needlefs to him the tribute we beſtow,
The tranfitory breath of fame below:
More lafting rapture from his works ſhall riſe,
While converts thank their poet in the ſkies,


THE DESERTED VILLAGE.
ΤΟ
SIR JOSHUA REYNOLDS,
DEAR SIR,
I CAN have no expectations in an addreſs of this
kind either to add to your reputation, or to eſta.
blifh my own. You can gain nothing from my ad-
miration, as I am ignorant of that art in which you
are faid to excel; and I may lofe much by the
feverity of your judgment, as few have a jufter
taſte in poetry than you. Setting intereft therefore
afide, to which I never paid much attention, I
must be indulged at prefent in following my affec
tions. The only dedication I ever made was to my
brother, becauſe I loved him better than moſt other
men. He is fince dead. Permit me to infcribe
this poem to you.
How far you may be pleaſed with the verfifica-
tion and mere mechanical parts of this attempt,
I don't pretend to enquire; but I know you will
D
object


26
object (and indeed ſeveral of our beſt and wifeſt
friends concur in the opinion) that the depopulation
it deplores is no where to be ſeen, and the diſorders
it laments are only to be found in the poet's own
imagination. To this I can ſcarce make any other
anſwer than that I fincerely believe what I have
written; that I have taken all poffible pains, in
my country excurfions, for thefe four or five
years paft, to be certain of what I allege, and
that all my views and enquiries have led me to
believe thoſe miſeries real, which I here attempt
to difplay. But this is not the place to enter
into an enquiry, whether the country be depo-
pulating or not; the difcuffion would take up
much room, and I fhould prove myſelf, at beft,
an indifferent politician, to tire the reader with
a long preface, when I want his unfatigued atten-
tion to a long poem.
In regretting the depopulation of the country,
I inveigh againſt the increaſe of our luxuries;
and here alfo I expect the fhout of modern poli-
ticians against me. For twenty or thirty years
paſt, it has been the faſhion to confider luxury as
one of the greateft national advantages; and all
the wifdom of antiquity in that particular as
erroneous. Still, however, I muſt remain a pro-
feffed ancient on that head, and continue to think
thofe luxuries prejudicial to ſtates, by which fo
many


27
many vices are introduced, and by which ſo many
kingdoms have been undone. Indeed fo much
has been poured out of late on the other fide of
the queſtion, that, merely for the fake of novelty
and variety, one would fometimes wiſh to be in
the right, I am,
Dear Sir,
Your fincere friend,
And ardent admirer,
OLIVER GOLDSMITH.
D 2


THE DESERTED VILLAGE.
SWEET AUBURN! lovelieſt village of the plain,
Where health and plenty chear'd the lab'ring fwain,
Where fmiling fpring its earlieft vifit paid,
And parting fummer's ling'ring blooms delay'd.
Dear lovely bow 'rs of innocence and eafe,
Seats of my youth, when ev'ry fport could pleaſe,
How often have I loiter'd o'er thy green,
Where humble happineſs endear'd each ſcene!
How often have I paus'd on ev'ry charm,
The fhelter'd cot, the cultivated farm,
The never-failing brook, the bufy mill,
The decent church that topt the neighb'ring hill.
The hawthorn-bufh, with feats beneath the fhade,
For talking age, and whifp'ring lovers made!
How often have I bleft the coming day,
When toil remitting lent its turn to play,
And all the village train, from labour free,
Led up their fports beneath the ſpreading tree;
While many a paftime circled in the ſhade,
The young contending as the old furvey'd ;
And many a gambol frolic'd o'er the ground,
And flights of art and feats of ftrength went round.
And ftill as each repeated pleafure tir'd,
Succeeding sports the mirthful band infpir'd ;
The


29
Ap
The dancing pair that fimply fought renown,
By holding out, to tire each other down;
The ſwain miſtruſtleſs of his ſmutted face,
While fecret laughter titter'd round the place;
The bafhful virgin's fide-long looks of love,
The matron's glance that would thofe looks reprove.
Theſe were thy charms, fweet village! fports like
thefe,
With fweet fucceffion, taught ev'n toil to pleaſe;
Theſe round thy bowr's their chearful influence
fhed,
Theſe were thy charms, but all thefe charms are fled.
Sweet fmiling village, lovelieft of the lawn,
Thy fports are fled, and all thy charms withdrawn;
Amidft thy bow'rs the tyrant's hand is feen,
And defolation faddens all the green :
One only mafter grafps the whole domain,
And half a tillage ftints thy fmiling plain;
No more thy glaffy brook reflects the day,
But, choak'd with fedges, works its weedy way;
Along the glades, a folitary gueft,
The hollow founding bittern guards its neft:
Amidst thy defart walks the lapwing flies,
And tires their echoes with unvary'd cries.
Sunk are thy bow'rs in fhapelefs ruin all,
And the long grafs o'ertops the mould'ring wall,
And trembling, fhrinking from the ſpoiler's hand,
Far, far away thy children leave the land.
Ill


30
Ill fares the land, to haft'ning ills a prey,
Where wealth accumulates, and men decay;
Princes and lords may flouriſh, or may fade ;
A breath can make them, as a breath has made :
But a bold peafantry, their country's pride,
When once deftroy'd, can never be ſupply'd.
A time there was, ere England's griefs began,
When ev'ry rood of ground maintain'd its man;
For him light labour ſpread her wholeſome ſtore,
Juft gave what life requir'd, but gave no more:
His best companions, innocence and health,
And his beft riches, ignorance of wealth.
But times are alter'd; trade's unfeeling train
Ufurp the land and difpoffefs the fwain ;
Along the lawn where fcatter'd hamlets rofe,
Unwieldy wealth, and cumbrous pomp repoſe;
And ev'ry want to luxury ally'd,
And ev'ry pang that folly pays to pride.
Thefe gentle hours that plenty bade to bloom,
Thofe calm defires that afk'd but little room;
Thofe healthful fports that grac'd the peaceful ſcene,
Liv'd in each look, and brighten'd all the green;
Thefe, far departing, feek a kinder fhore,
And rural mirth and manners are no more.
Sweet AUBURN! parent of the blissful hour,
Thy glades forlorn confefs the tyrant's pow'r.
Here


31
Here, as I take my folitary rounds,
Amidft thy tangling walks, and ruin'd grounds,
And, many year elaps'd, return to view
Where once the cottage ftood, the hawthorn grew,
Remembrance wakes with all her buſy train,
Swells at my breaſt, and turns the paſt to pain.
In all my wand'rings round this world of care,
In all my griefs-and God has giv'n me ſhare-
I ftill had hopes my lateſt hours to crown,
Amidft thefe humble bow'rs to lay me down;
To hufband out life's taper at the cloſe,
And keep the flame from wafting by repofe :
I ftill had hopes, for pride attends us ſtill,
Amidft the fwains to fhew my book-learn'd ſkill,
Around my fire an ev'ning group to draw,
And tell of all I felt, and all I faw;
And, as an hare whom hounds and horns purfue,
Pants to the place from whence at firſt ſhe flew,
I ftill had hopes my long vexations paſt,
Here to return-and die at home at laft.
O bleft retirement, friend to life's decline,
Retreats from care that never must be mine!
How bleft is he who crowns in fhades like thefe,
A youth of labour with an age of eaſe;
Who quits a world where ftrong temptations try,
And, fince 'tis hard to combat, learns to fly!
For him no wretches born to work and weep,
Explore the mine, or tempt the dang'rous deep;
No


32
No furly porter flands in guilty ftate,
To fpurn imploring famine from the gate;
But on he moves to meet his latter end,
Angels around befriending virtue's friend;
Sinks to the grave with unperceiv'd decay,
While refignation gently flopes the way;
And all his profpects bright'ning to the laſt,
His Heav'n commences ere the world be paſt!
;
Sweet was the found, when oft at ev'ning's clofe,
Up yonder hill the village murmur roſe ;
There, as I paft with careleſs ſteps and flow,
The mingling notes came foften'd from below
The fwain refponfive as the milk-maid fung,
The fober herd that low'd to meet their young;
The noify geefe that gabbled o'er the pool,
The playful children juft let loofe from ſchool;
The watch-dog's voice that bay'd the whifp'ring
wind,
And the loud laugh that fpoke the vacant mind;
Thefe all in fweet confufion fought the fhade,
And fill'd each pauſe the nightingale had made.
For now the founds of population fail,
No chearful murmurs fluctuate in the gale,
No bufy fteps the grafs-grown footway tread,
But all the bloomy flufh of life is fled.
All but yon widow'd, folitary thing,
That feebly bends befide the plaſhy ſpring;
She, wretched matron, forc'd, in age, for bread,
To ftrip the brook with mantling creffès fprcad,
To


33
To pick her wintry faggot from the thorn,
To feek her nightly fhed, and weep 'till morn;
She only left of all the harmleſs train,
The fad hiftorian of the penfive plain.
Near yonder copfe, where once the garden fmil'a,
And ſtill where many a garden flow'r grows wild;
There, where a few torn fhrubs the place difclofe,
The village preacher's modeft manfion 10fe.
A man he was to all the country dear,
And paffing rich with forty pounds a-year;
Remote from towns he ran his godly race,
Nor ere had chang'd, nor wifh'd to change his place;
Unfkilful he to fawn, or feek for pow'r,
By doctrines faſhion'd to the varying hour;
Far other aims his heart had learn'd to prize,
More bent to raiſe the wretched than to rife.
His houfe was known to all the vagrant train,
He chid their wand'rings, but reliev'd their pain,"
The long remember'd beggar was his gueſt,
Whoſe beard defcending fwept his aged breaſt ;
The ruin'd spendthrift, now no longer proud,
Claim'd kindred there, and had his claims allow'd;
The broken foldier, kindly bade to ſtay,
Sate by his fire, and talk'd the night away;
Wept o'er his wounds, or tales of forrow done,
Shoulder'd his crutch, and fhew'd how fields were
won.
Pleas'd with his gueſts, the good man learn'd to glow
And quite forgot their vices in their woe;
E
Careless


34
Careleſs their merits, or their faults to ſcan,
His pity gave ere charity began,
Thus to relieve the wretched was his pride,
And ev❜n his failings lean'd to virtues fide;
But in his duty prompt at ev'ry call,
He watch'd and wept, he pray'd and felt for all.
And, as a bird each fond endearment tries,
To tempt its new-fledg'd offspring to the ſkies;
He tried each art, reprov'd each dull delay,
Allur'd to brighter worlds, and led the way.
Befide the bed where parting life was laid,
And forrow, guilt and pain, by turns difmay'd,
The rev'rend champion flood. At his control,
Defpair and anguifh fled the struggling foul;
Comfort came down the trembling wretch to raife,
And his laſt fault'ring accents whiſper'd praife.
At church with meek and unaffected grace,
His looks adorn'd the venerable place;
Truth from his lips prevail'd with double fway,
And fools who came to fcoff, remain'd to pray.
The fervice paft, around the pious man,
With ready zeal, each honeft ruſtic ran;
Ev'n Children follow'd with endearing wile,
And pluck'd his gown, to fhare the good man's
fimile.
*
His ready fimile a parent's warmth expreft,
Their welfare pleas'd him, and their cares diftreft ;
To


35
To them his heart, his love, his griefs were giv'n,
But all his ſerious thoughts had reft in heav'n.
As fome tall cliff that lifts its awful form,
Swells from the vale, and midway leaves the ſtorm,
Tho' round its breaſt the rolling clouds are ſpread,
Eternal funfhine fettles on its head.
Befide yon ftraggling fence that ſkirts the way,
With bloffom'd furze unprofitably gay,
There, in his noiſy manſion, ſkill'd to rule,
The village mafter taught his little ſchool;
A man ſevere he was, and ftern to view,
I knew him well and ev'ry truant knew ;
Well had the boding tremblers learn'd to trace
The day's difafters in his morning face;
Full well they laugh'd with counterfeited glee
At all his jokes, for many a joke had he;
Full well the bufy whiſper circling round,
Convey'd the diſmal tidings when he frown'd;
Yet he was kind, or if fevere in aught,
The love he bore to learning was in fault;
The village all declar'd how much he knew ;
'Twas certain he could write, and cypher too;
Lands he could meaſure, terms and tides prefage,
And ev'n the ſtory ran that he could gauge :
In arguing too, the parfon own'd his ſkill,
For ev'n tho' vanquifh'd, he could argue ſtill;
While words of learn'd ftrength, and thund'ring
found,
Amaz'd the gazing ruftics rang'd around,
Ê 2
Ar


36
And ftill they gaz'd, and ftill the wonder grew,
That one fmali head could carry all he knew.
But paft is all his fame. The very ſpot
Where many a time he triumph'd, is forgot.
Near yonder thorn, that lifts its head on high,
Where once the fign poft caught the paffing eye,
Low lies that houfe where nut brown draughts
infpir'd,
Where grey beard mirth and fmiling toil retir'd,
Where village ſtateſmen talk'd with looks profound,
And news much older than their ale went round.
Imagination fondly ftoops to trace
The parlour ſplendours of that feſtive place;
The white-wafh'd wall, the nicely-fanded floor,
The varnish'd clock that click'd behind the door,
The cheft contriv'd a double debt to pay,
A bed by night, a cheft of draw'rs by day;
The pictures plac'd for ornament and uſe,
The twelve good rules, the royal game of gooſe;
The hearth, except when winter chill'd the day,
With afpen boughs, and flow'rs and fennel gay,
While broken tea-cups, wifely kept for fhew,
Rang'd o'er the chimney, gliften'd in a row.
Vain tranfitory ſplendour! could not all
Reprieve the tott'ring manfion from its fall!
Obfcure it finks, nor fhall it more impart
An hour's importance to the poor man's heart
Thither no more the peaſant fhall repair,
To fweet oblivion of his daily care;
i
No


37
No more the farmer's news, the barber's tale,
No more the woodman's ballad fhall prevail;
No more the fmith his duſky brow ſhall clear,
Relax his pond'rous ftrength, and lean to hear;
The hoft himſelf no longer fhall be found
Careful to fee the mantling blifs go round;
Nor the coy maid, half willing to be preft,
Shall kifs the cup to paſs it to the reſt.
Yes! let the rich deride, the proud difdain,
Thefe fimple bleffings of the lowly train,
To me more dear, congenial to my heart,
One native charm, than all the gloſs of art;
Spontaneous joys, where Nature has its play,
The foul adopts, and owns their firſt-born ſway;
Lightly they frolic o'er the vacant mind,
Unenvied, unmolefted, unconfin'd.
But the long pomp, the midnight maſquerade,
With all the freaks of wanton wealth array'd,
In thefe, ere triflers half their wiſh obtain,
The toiling pleaſure fickens into pain;
And, ev'n while fashion's brighteſt arts decoy,
The heart diftrufting-afks, if this be joy.
Ye friends to truth, ye ftatefmen who furvey
The rich man's joys encreaſe, the poor's decay,
'Tis yours to judge, how wide the limits ſtand
Between a fplendid and an happy land.
Proud fwells the tide with loads of freighted ore,
And fhouting Folly hails them from her fhore;
Hoards,


38
Hoards ev'n beyond the miſer's wiſh abound,
And rich men flock from all the world around.
Yet count our gains. This wealth is but a name
That leaves our uſeful product ftill the ſame.
Not fo the lofs. The man of wealth and pride
'Takes up a ſpace that many poor ſupply'd;
Space for his lake, his park's extended bounds,
Space for his horfes, equipage and hounds;
The robes that wraps his limbs in filken ſloth,
Has robb'd the neighb'ring fields of half their
growth;
His feat, where folitary ſports are feen,
Indignant fpurns the cottage from the green;
Around the world each needful product flies,
For all the luxuries the world fupplies.
While thus the land, adorn'd for pleaſure all,
In barren fplendour feebly waits the fall.
As fome fair female, unadorn'd and plain,
Secure to pleaſe while youth confirms her reign,
Slights ev'ry borrow'd charm that dreſs fupplies,
Nor fhares with art the triumph of her eyes;
But when thoſe charms are paſt, (for charms are
frail,)
When time advances, and when lovers fail,
She then fhines forth, folicitous to blefs,
In all the glaring impotence of drefs.
Thus fares the land, by luxury betray'd,
In nature's fimpleft charms at firſt array'd,
But


39
But verging to decline, its fplendours rife,
Its viftas ftrike, its palaces ſurpriſe;
While, fcourg'd by famine from the fimiling land,
The mournful peafant leads his humble band;
And while he finks, without one arm to fave,
The country blooms-a garden, and a grave.
Where then, ah! where fhall poverty refide,
To 'fcape the preffure of contiguous pride?
If to fome common's fenceleſs limits ſtray'd,
He drives his flock to pick the fcanty blade,
Thofe fenceless fields the fons of wealth divide,
And ev❜n the bare-worn common is deny'd.
If to the city fped-What waits him there?
To fee profufion that he must not fhare;
To fee ten thouſand baneful arts combin'd
To pamper luxury, and thin mankind;
To fee each joy the fons of pleaſure know
Extorted from his fellow creature's woe.
Here, while the courtier glitters in brocade,
There the pale artift plies the fickly trade;
Here, while the proud their long-drawn pomps
difplay,
There the black gibbet glooms beſide the way.
The dome where pleafure holds her midnight
reign,
Here, richly deck'd, admits the gorgeous train ;.
Tumultuous grandeur crowds the blazing fquare,
The rattling chariots clafh, the torches glare.
Sure


40
Sure ſcenes like theſe no troubles ere annoy!
Sure theſe denote one univerſal joy!
Are theſe thy ferious thoughts?-Ah! turn thine
eyes,
Where the poor houſeleſs ſhiv'ring female lies.
She once, perhaps, in village plenty bleft,
Has wept at tales of innocence diſtreſt;
Her modeft looks the cottage might adorn,
Sweet as the primroſe peeps beneath the thorn;
Now loft to all; her friends, her virtue fled,
Near her betrayer's door fhe lays her head,
And, pinch'd with cold and fhrinking from the
fhow'r,
With heavy heart deplores that luckleſs hour,
When idly firft, ambitious of the town,
She left her wheel, and robes of country brown.
Do thine, ſweet AUBURN, thine, the lovelieſt
train,
Do thy fair tribes participate her pain?
Ev'n now, perhaps, by cold and hunger led,
At proud mens doors they aík a little bread!
Ah, no. To diftant climes, a dreary fcene,
Where half the convex world intrudes between,
Through torrid tracks with fainting ſteps they go
Where wild Altama murmurs to their woe.
Far different there from all that charm'd before,
The various terrors of that horrid ſhore;
Thofe blazing funs, that dart a downward ray,
And fiercely fed intolerable day;
Thofe


41
Thofe matted woods, where birds forget to fing,
But filent bats in drowſy cluſters cling;
Thoſe pois'nous fields, with rank luxuriance
crown'd,
Where the dark ſcorpion gathers death around;
Where at each ſtep the ſtranger fears to wake
The rattling terrors of the vengeful fnake;
Where crouching tigers wait their hapleſs prey,
And favage men more murd'rous ftill than they;
While oft in whirls the mad tornado flies,
Mingling the ravag'd landſcape with the fkies.
Far different theſe from every former ſcene,
The cooling brook, the graffy veſted green,
The breezy covert of the warbling grove,
That only ſhelter'd thefts of harmleſs love.
Good Heav'n! what forrows gloom'd that part-
ing day,
That call'd them from their native walks away:
When the poor exiles ev'ry pleaſure paſt,
Hung round the bowers, and fondly look'd their
laft,
And took a long farewel, and wifh'd in vain
For feats like thefe beyond the weſtern main;
And fhudd'ring ftill to face the diſtant deep,
Return'd and wept, and ftill return'd to weep..
The good old fire, the firſt prepar'd to go
To new-found worlds, and wept for other's woe,
F
2
But


42
But for himſelf, in confcious virtue brave,
He only wifh'd for worlds beyond the grave.
His lovely daughter, lovelier in her tears,
The fond companion of his helpleſs years,
Silent went next, neglectful of her charms,
And left a lover's for a father's arms.
With louder plaints the mother ſpoke her woes,
And bleft the cot where ev'ry pleaſure rofe;
And kift her thoughtleſs babes with many a tear,
And clafpt them clofe, in forrow doubly dear;
While her fond huſband ftrove to lend relief
In all the filent manliness of grief.
O luxury! thou curft by heaven's decree,
How ill exchang'd are things like theſe for thee!
How do thy potions, with infidious joy,
Diffuſe their pleaſures only to deftroy!
Kingdoms by thee, to fickly greatneſs grown,
Boaſt of a florid vigour not their own.
At ev'ry draught more large and large they grow,
A bloated mafs of rank unwieldy woe;
Till fapp'd their ſtrength, and ev'ry part unfound,
Down, down they fink, and ſpread a ruin round.
Ev'n now the devaſtation is begun,
And half the buſineſs of deftruction done;
Ev'n now, methinks, as pond'ring here I ſtand,
I fee the rural virtues leave the land.
Down


43
Down where yon anch'ring veffel fpreads the
fail
That idly waiting flaps with ev'ry gale,
Downward they move, a melancholy band,
Paſs from the ſhore, and darken all the ſtrand;
Contented toil, and hofpitable care,
And kind connubial tenderneſs are there;
And piety, with wiſhes plac'd above;
And ſteady loyalty, and faithful love.
And thou, fweet Poetry! thou loveliest maid,
Still firft to fly where fenfual joys invade;
Unfit in theſe degen'rate times of ſhame,
To catch the heart or ftrike for honeſt fame;
Dear charming nymph! neglected and decry'd;
My fhame in crowds, my folitary pride.
Thou fource of all my blifs, and all my woe,
That found'ſt me poor at first, and keep'ft me
fo:
Thou guide, by which the nobler arts excel,
Thou nurfe of ev'ry virtue fare thee well;
Farewell! and, O! where'er thy voice be try'd,
On Torno's cliffs, or Pambamarca's fide,
Whether where equinoctial fervours glow,
Or winter wraps the polar world in ſnow,
Still let thy voice, prevailing over time,
Redreſs the rigours of th' inclement clime:
Aid flighted truth, with thy perfuafive ftrain;
Teach erring man to fpurn the rage of gain;
F 2
Teach


44
Teach him, that ſtates, of native ftrength poffeft,
Though very poor may ſtill be very bleft;
That trade's proud empire haftes to fwift decay,
As ocean fweeps the labour'd mole away;
While felf-dependent pow'r can time defy,
As rocks refift the billows and the ſky.


EPILOGUE
TO THE
SISTERS.
WHAT! five long acts—and all to make us
wifer!
Our Auth'refs fure has wanted an adviſer.
Had the confulted me, fhe ſhould have made
Her moral play a ſpeaking maſquerade;
Warm'd up each buftiing fcene, and in her rage
Have emptied all the green-room on the ſtage.
My life on't, this had kept her play from finking;
Have pleas'd our eyes, and fav'd the pain of
thinking.
Well, fince the thus has fhewn her want of ſkill,
What if I give a maſquerade ?I will.
But how? ay, there's the rub! [paufing]-I've
got my cue:
The world's a maſquerade! the mafquer's, you,
you, you. [To boxes, pit and gallery.
Lud! what a group the motley ſcene diſcloſes!
Falfe wits, falfe wives, falfe virgins and falfe ſpouſes!
Stateſmen with bridles on; and, cloſe befide 'em,
Patriots in party-colour'd fuits that ride 'em,
There Hebes, turn'd of fifty, try once more
To raiſe a flame in Cupids of threeſcore ;
Thefe


46
Theſe in their turn, with appetites as keen,
Deferting fifty, faſten on fifteen.
Mifs, not yet full fifteen, with fire uncommon,
Flings down her fampler and takes up the woman:
The little urchin fmiles, and ſpreads her lure,
And tries to kill, ere fhe's got power to cure.
Thus, 'tis with all-their chief and conftant care
Is to feem ev'ry thing-but what they are.
Yon broad, bold, angry fpark, I fix my eye on,
Who ſeems t' have robb'd his vizor from the lion;
Who frowns, and talks, and fwears, with round
parade,
[Mimicking.
Looking, as who fhould fay, dam'me! who's afraid?
Strip but this vizor off, and fure I am
You'll find his lionſhip a very lamb.
Yon politician, famous in debate,
Perhaps, to vulgar eyes, beftrides the ſtate;
Yet, when he deigns his real fhape t' affume,
He turns old woman, and beſtrides a broom.
Yon patriot too, who preffes on your fight,
And feems to ev'ry gazer all in white,
If with a bribe his candour you attack,
He bows, turns round, and whip-the man is black!
Yon critic, too-but whither do I run?
If I proceed, our bard will be undone !
Well then, a truce, fince the requeſts it too ;
Do you fpare her, and I'll for once ſpare you.


SONG.
Memory! thou fond deceiver,
Still importunate and vain,
To former joys, recurring ever,
And turning all the paſt to pain;
Thou, like the world, th' oppreft oppreffing,
Thy fmiles increaſe the wretch's woe!
And he who wants each other bleffing,
In thee muſt ever find a foe.


SONG
FROM THE
ORATORIO OF THE CAPTIVITY.
THE wretch condemn'd with life to part,
Still, ftill on hope relies;
And ev'ry pang that rends the heart,
Bids expectation rife.
Hope, like the glimm'ring taper's light,
Adorns and chears the way;
And ſtill, as darker grows the night,
Emits a brighter ray..


THE TRAVELLER,
OR
A PROSPECT OF SOCIETY :
A POEM.
FIRST PRINTED IN M,DCC,LXV.
TO THE REV. HENRY GOLDSMITH.
DEAR SIR,
I AM fenfible that the friendſhip between us can
acquire no new force from the ceremonies of a
dedication; and perhaps it demands an excuſe thus
to prefix your name to my attempts, which you de-
cline giving with your own. But as a part of this
poem was formerly written to you from Switzerland,
the whole can now, with propriety, be only in-
ſcribed to you. It will alfo throw a light upon
many parts of it, when the reader underſtands,
that it is addreffed to a man, who defpifing fame
and fortune, has retired early to happineſs and
obfcurity, with an income of forty pounds a
year.
G
I now


50
of
I now perceive, my dear brother, the wifdom
your
humble choice. You have entered upon
a facred office, where the harveft is great, and the
labourers are few; while you have left the field of
ambition, where the labourers are many, and the
harveſt not worth carrying away. But of all kinds
of ambition, what from the refinement of the times,
from different fyftems of criticism, and from the
divifions of party, that which purſues poetical fame
is the wildeft.
Poetry makes a principal amuſement among un-
poliſhed nations; but in a country verging to
the extremes of refinement, painting and mufic
come in for a fhare. As thefe offer the feeble mind
a lefs laborious entertainment, they at firſt rival
poetry, and at length fupplant her; they engroſs
all that favour once fewn to her, and, though
but younger fifters, feize upon the elder's birth-
right.
Yet, however this art may be neglected by the
powerful, it is ftill in greater danger from the mif-
taken efforts of the learned to improve it. What
criticifms have we not heard of late in favour of
blank verfe, and Pindaric odes, choruffes, anapefts
and iambics, alliterative care and happy ne-
gligence! Every abfurdity has now a champion
to


51
to defend it; and as he is generally much in the
wrong, fo he has always much to fay; for error
is ever talkative.
But there is an enemy to this art ſtill more dan-
gerous, I mean Party. Party entirely diftorts the
judgment and deftroys the tafte. When the mind
is once infected with this difeafe, it can only
find pleaſure in what contributes to increase the
diftemper. Like the tyger, that feldom defifts from
purſuing man, after having once preyed upon
human fleſh, the reader, who has once gratified
his appetite with calumny, makes, ever after, the
moft agreeable feaft upon murdered reputation.
Such readers generally admire fome half witted
thing, who wants to be thought a bold man, having
loft the character of a wife one. Him they dignify
with the name of poet; his tawdry lampoons are
called fatires; his turbulence is faid to be force,
and his phrenzy fire.
#
What reception a poem may find, which has
neither abufe, party, nor blank verfe to fupport
it, I cannot tell, nor am I folicitous to know. My
aims are right. Without efpoufing the cauſe of
any party, I have attempted to moderate the rage
of all. I have endeavoured to fhew, that there*
may be equal happineſs in ſtates that are differently
G 2
governed


52
governed from our own; that every ſtate has a
particular principle of happineſs, and that this
principle in each may be carried to a miſchievous
exceſs. There are few can judge better than
yourſelf how far theſe poſitions are illuſtrated in
this poem.
.
I am, Dear Sir,
Your moſt affectionate Brother,
OLIVER GOLDSMITH.


1
(
0
THE TRAVELLER.
REMOTE, unfriended, melancholy, flow,
Or by the lazy Scheld, or wand'ring Po;
Or onward, where the rude Carinthian boor
Againſt the houſeleſs ftranger fhuts the door;
Or where Campania's plain forfaken lies,
A weary waſte expanding to the ſkies;
Where'er I roam, whatever realms to fee,
My heart untravell'd fondly turns to thee;
Still to my brother turns with ceaſeleſs pain,
And drags at each remove a length'ning chain.
Eternal bleffings crown my earlieſt friend,
And round his dwelling guardian faints attend;
Bleft be that ſpot, where chearful gueſts retire
To pauſe from toil, and trim their ev'ning fire;
Bleft that abode, where want and pain repair,
And ev'ry ſtranger finds a ready chair;
Bleft be thofe feafts, with fimple plenty crown'd,
Where all the ruddy family around
Laugh at the jefts or pranks that never fail,
Or figh with pity at ſome mournful tale ;
Or prefs the baſhful ſtranger to his food,
And learn the luxury of doing good.
But


54
But me, not deftin'd fuch delights to ſhare,
My prime of life in wand'ring ſpent, and care;
Impell'd, with ſteps unceafing, to purſue
Some fleeting good, that mocks me with the view;
That like the circle bounding earth and fkies,
Allures from far, yet, as I follow, flies;
My fortune leads to traverſe realms alone,
And find no fpot of all the world my own.
Ev'n now, where Alpine folitudes afcend,
I fit me down a penfive hour to ſpend;
And, plac'd on high above the ſtorm's career,
Look downward where an hundred realms appear;
Lakes, forefts, cities, plains extending wide,
The pomp of kings, the fhepherds humbler pride.
When thus Creation's charms around combine,
Amidft the ſtore ſhould thankleſs pride repine?
Say, fhould the philofophic mind diſdain
That good which makes each humbler bofom vain?
Let ſchool-taught pride diffemble all it can,
Theſe little things are great to little man ;
And wifer he, whoſe ſympathetic mind
Exults in all the good of all mankind.
Ye glittr'ing towns, with wealth and fplendour
crown'd:
Ye fields, where fummer ſpreads profufion round;
Ye lakes, whofe veffels catch the buſy gale;
Ye bending fwains, that dreſs the flow'ry vale;
For me your tributary ſtores combine:
Creation's heir, the world, the world is mine.
As


55
As fome lone mifer, vifiting his ſtore,
Bends at his treaſure, counts, recounts it o'er;
Hoards after hoards his rifing raptures fill :
Yet ftill he fighs, for hoards are wanting ftill;
Thus to my breaft alternate paffions riſe,
Pleas'd with each good that heav'n to man ſupplies;
Yet oft a figh prevails, and forrows fall,
To fee the hoard of human blifs fo fmall;
And oft I wifh, amidſt the ſcene, to find
Some ſpot to real happineſs confign'd,
Where my worn foul, each wand'ring hope at reft,
May gather blifs to fee my
fellows bleft.
But where to find that happieft fpot below,
Who can direct, when all pretend to know?
The fhuddering tenant of the frigid zone
Boldly proclaims that happieſt ſpot his own;
Extols the treaſures of his ftormy feas,
And his long nights of revelry and eaſe:
The naked negro, panting at the line
Boafts of his golden fands and palmy wine,
Baſks in the glare, or ſtems the tepid wave,
And thanks his Gods for all the good they gave.
Such is the patriot's boaſt, where'er we roam;
His first, beft country ever is at home;
And yet, perhaps, if countries we compare,
And eftimate the bleffings which they fhare,
Though patriots flatter, ftill fhall wifdom find
An equal portion dealt to all mankind;
As


56
As different good, by art or nature given,
To different nations makes their bleffings even.
Nature, a mother kind alike to all,
Still grants her blifs at labour's earneſt call;
With food as well the peafant is fupply'd
On Idra's cliffs as Arno's fhelvy fide;
And though the rocky crefted fummits frown,
Theſe rocks, by cuftom, turn to beds of down.
From art more various are the bleffings fent;
Wealth, commerce, honour, liberty, content,
Yet thefe each other's power fo ftrong conteft,
That either feems deſtructive of the reſt.
Where wealth and freedom reign, contentment
fails,
And honour finks where commerce long prevails:
Hence every ſtate to one lav'd bleffing prone,
Conforms and models life to that alone.
Each to the fav'rite happineſs attends,
And fpurns the plan that aims at other ends;
'Till, carried to exceſs in each domain,
This fav'rite good begets peculiar pain.
But let us try theſe truths with clofer eyes,
And trace them through the proſpect as it lies:
Here for a while my proper cares refign'd,
Here let me fit in forrow for mankind;
Like yon neglected ſhrub at random caſt,
That fhades the ſteep, and fighs at every blaſt.
Far


57
Far to the right where Appennine afcends,
Bright as the fummer, Italy extends;
Its uplands floping, deck the mountain's fide,
Woods over woods in gay theatric pride ;-
While oft fome temple's mould'ring tops between,
With venerable grandeur mark the ſcene.
Could nature's bounty fatisfy the breaſt,
The fons of Italy were furely bleſt...
Whatever fruits in different climes are found, ..
That proudly rife, or humbly court the ground;
Whatever blooms in torrid tracts appear,
Whoſe bright fucceffion decks the varied year;
Whatever ſweets falutes the northern ſky
With vernal lives, that bloffom but to die ;
Thefe here difporting own the kindred foil,
Nor aſk luxuriance from the planter's toil ;
While fea-born gales their gelid wings expand
To winnow fragrance round the ſmiling land.
.
But fmall the blifs that fenfe alone beſtows,
And fenfual blifs is all the nation knows.
In florid beauty groves and fields appear,
Man ſeems the only growth that dwindles here.
Contrafted faults through all his manners reign;
Though poor, luxurious; though fubmiffive, vain;
Though grave, yet trifling; zealous, yet untrue,
And ev'n in penance planning fins anew.
And evils here contaminate the mind,.
That opulence departed leaves behind;
H
For


58
For wealth was theirs, not far remov'd the date,
When commerce proudly flouriſh'd through the
ftate;
At her command the palace learnt to rife,
Again the long-fall'n column fought the ſkies;
The canvafs glow'd beyond e'en Nature warm,
The pregnant quarry teem'd with human form,
Till, more unfteady than the fouthern gale,
Commerce on other ſhores difplay'd her fail ;
While nought remain'd of all that riches gave,
But towns unmann'd and lords without a flave:
And late the nation found with fruitlefs fkill,
Its former ſtrength was but plethoric ill.
Yet, ftill the lofs of wealth is here fupply'd
By arts, the fplendid wrecks of former pride;
From theſe the feeble heart and long-fall'n mind
An eafy compenſation ſeem to find.
Here may be ſeen, in bloodlefs pomp array'd,
The paſte-board triumph and the cavalcade ;
Proceffions form'd for piety and love,
A miſtreſs or a faint in ev'ry grove.
By ſports like theſe are all their cares beguil❜d,
The fports of children fatisfy the child;
Each nobler aim repreft by long controul,
Now finks at laſt, or feebly mans the foul;
While low delights fucceeding faft behind,
In happier meannefs occupy the mind:
As in thoſe domes, where Cæfars once bore ſway,
Defac'd by time and tott'ring in decay,
There'


59
There in the ruin, heedlefs of the dead,
The fhelter-feeking peaſant builds his ſhed,
And, wond'ring man could want the larger pile,
Exults, and owns his cottage with a ſimile.
My foul turn from them, turn we to furvey
Where rougher climes a nobler race difplay,
Where the bleak Swifs their ftormy manfion tread,
And force a curlifh foil for feanty bread;
No product here the barren hills afford,
But man and ſteel, the foldier and his ſword.
No vernal blooms their torpid rocks array,
But winter ling'ring chills the lap of May;
No zephyr fondly fues the mountain's breaft,
But meteors glare, and ftormy glooms inveft.
Yet ftill, ev'n here, content can fpread a charm,
Redreſs the clime, and all its rage difarm.
Tho' poor the peafant's hut, his feafts tho' fmail,
He fees his little lot the lot of all;
Sees no contiguous palace rear its head
To fhame the meanneſs of his humble fhed;
No coftly lord the fumptuous banquet deal
To make him loathe his vegetable meal;
But calm, and bred in ignorance and toil,
Each with contracting, fits him to the foil.
Chearful at morn he wakes from ſhort repoſe,
Breafts the keen air, and carols as he goes;
With patient angle trolls the finny deep,
Or drives his vent'rous plough fhare to the fteep;
H 2
0


60
Or feeks the den where ſnow-tracks mark the way,
And drags the ſtruggling favage into the day.
At night returning, ev'ry labour ſped,
He fits him down the monarch of a ſhed;
Smiles by his chearful fire, and round furveys
His childrens looks, that brighten at the blaze;
While his lov'd partner, boastful of her hoard,
Difplays her cleanly platter on the board:
And haply too fome pilgrim, thither led,
With many a tale repays the nightly bed.
Thus every good his native wilds impart,
Imprints the patriot paffion on his heart,
And ev❜n thoſe ills, that round his manſion rife,
Enhance the blifs his feanty fund fupplies :
Dear is that flred to which his foul conforms,
And dear that hill which lifts him to the ftorms;
And as a child when fcaring founds moleft,
Clings cloſe and cloſer to the mother's breaſt,
So the loud torrent and the whirlwind's roar,
But bind him to his native mountains more.
Such are the charms to barren ſtates affign'd:
"Their wants but few, their wishes all confin'd.
Yet let them only ſhare the praiſes due,
If few their wants, their pleaſures are but few;
For every want that ſtimulates the breaſt,
Becomes a fource of pleaſure when redreſt.
Whence from fuch lands each pleaſing ſcience flies,
That firft excites defire, and then fupplies;
Unknown


61
Unknown to them when fenfual pleaſures cloy,
To fill the languid paufe with finer joy;
Unknown thofe powers that raife the foul to flame,
Catch every nerve and vibrate through the frame.
Their level life is but a mouldering fire,
Unquench'd by want, unfann'd by ftrong defire;
Unfit for raptures; or, if raptures cheer
On fome high feſtival of once a year,
In wild exceſs the vulgar breaſt takes fire,
Till, buried in debauch, the blifs expire.
But not their joys alone thus coarfely flow;
Their morals, like their pleaſures, are but low;
For, as refinement ftops, from fire to fon,
Unalter'd, unimprov'd, the manners run;
And love's and friendship's finely pointed dart
Fall blunted from each indurated heart.
Some fterner virtues o'er the mountain's breaſt
May fit, like falcons cow'ring on the neſt:
But all the gentler morals, fuch as play
Through life's more cultur'd walks, and charm the
way;
Thefe, far difpers'd, on timorous pinions fly,
To fport and flutter in a kinder fky.
To kinder fkies, where gentle manners reign,
I turn; and France diſplays her bright domain.
Gay fprightly land of mirth and focial eafe;
Pleas'd with thyſelf, whom all the world can pleaſe;
How often have I led thy fportive choir,
With tunelefs pipe, befide the murmuring Loire !
Where


62
Where fhading elins along the margin grew,
And freſhen'd from the wave the zephyr flew;
And haply, though my harfh touch, falt'ring ftill,
But mock'd all tune, and marr'd the dancer's ſkill;
Yet would the village praife my wond'rous power,
And dance, forgetful of the noon-tide hour.
Alike all ages. Dames of ancient days
;
Have led their children through the mirthful maze
And the gay grandfire, fkill'd in geftic lore,
Has frifk'd beneath the burthen of threefcore.
So bleft a life theſe thoughtleſs realms difplay
Thus idly bufy rolls their world away.
Theirs are thofe arts that mind to mind endear;
For honour forms the focial temper here.
Honour, that praiſe which real merit gains,
Or e'en imaginary worth obtains,
Here paffes current: paid from hand to hand,
It fhifts in fplendid traffick round the land:
From courts, to camps, to cottages it ſtrays,
And all are taught an avarice of praiſe :
They pleaſe, are pleas'd; they give to get eſteem,
Till, ſeeming bleft, they grow to what they ſeem.
But while this fofter art their blifs ſupplies,
It gives their follies alfo room to riſe;
For praiſe too dearly lov'd, or warmly fought,
Enfeebles all internal ſtrength of thought;
And the weak foul, within itſelf unbleft,
Leans for all pleaſure on another's breaſt.
Hence


63
Hence oftentation here, with tawdry art,
Pants for the vulgar praiſe which fools impart.
Here vanity affumes her pert grimace.
And trims her robe of frize with copper lace;
Here beggar pride defrauds her daily cheer,
To boaſt one fplendid banquet once a year:
The mind ſtill turns where fhifting fashion draws,
Nor weighs the folid worth of felf applauſe.
To men of other minds my fancy flies,
Embofom'd in the deep where Holland lies.
Methinks her patient fons before me ſtand,
Where the broad ocean leans againſt the land,
And, fedulous to stop the coming tide,
Lift the tall rampire's artificial pride.
Onward methinks, and diligently flow,
The firm connected bulwark feems to grow;
Spreads its long arms amidſt the watery roar,
Scoops out an empire, and ufurps the ſhore;
While the pent ocean, rifing o'er the pile,
Sees an amphibious world beneath him fmile;
The flow canal, the yellow bloffom'd vale,
The willow tufted bank, the gliding fail,
The crowded mart, the cultivated plain:
A new creation reſcu'd from his reign.
Thus, while around the wave-fubjected foil
Impels the native to repeated toil,
Induſtrious habits in each bofom reign,
And induftry begets a love of gain.
Hence


64
Hence all the good from opulence that ſprings,
With all thofe ills fuperfluous treaſure brings,
Are here difplay'd. Their much lov'd wealth
imparts
Convenience, plenty, elegance, and arts:
But view them cloſer, craft and fraud appear;
Ev'n liberty herſelf is barter'd here.
At gold's fuperior charms all freedom flies;
The needy fell it, and the rich man buys;
A land of tyrants, and a den of flaves;
Here wretches feek difhonourable graves,
And calmly bent, to fervitude conform,
Dull as their lakes that flumber in the ftorm.
Heavens! how unlike their Belgic fires of old!"
Rough, poor, content, ungovernably bold:
War in each breaft, and freedom on each brow,
How much unlike the fons of Britain now!
Fir'd at the found, my genius fpreads her wing,
And flies where Britain courts the weſtern ſpring;
Where lawns extend that ſcorn Arcadian pride,
And brighter ftreams than fam'd Hydafpis glide.
There all around the gentleft breezes ftray,
There gentle mufic melts on every ſpray:
Creation's mildeſt charms are there combin❜d,
Extremes are only in the maſter's mind!
Stern o'er each bofom reaſon holds her ſtate,
With daring aims irregularly great;
Pride in their port, defiance in their eye,
I fee the lords of human kind paſs by;
Intent


65
Intent on high defigns, a thoughtful band,
By forms unfaſhion'd, fresh from Nature's hand;
Fierce in their native hardiness of foul,
True to imagin'd right, above controul,
While ev'n the peaſant boaſts theſe rights to ſcan,
And learns to venerate himſelf as man.
Thine, Freedom, thine the bleffings pictur'd here,
Thine are thofe charms that dazzle and endear;
Too bleft indeed, were fuch without alloy,
But foſter'd ev'n by Freedom ills annoy ;
That independence Britons prize too high,
Keeps man from man and breaks the ſocial tie;
The felf-dependent lordlings ſtand alone,
All claims that bind and ſweeten life unknown;
Here by the bonds of Nature feebly held,
Minds combat minds, repelling and repell'd.
Ferments arife, imprifon'd factions roar,
Repreft ambition ſtruggles round the ſhore,
Till over wrought, the gen'ral ſyſtem feels
Its motions ftop, or phrenzy fire the wheels.
Nor this the worſt. As Nature's ties decay,
As duty, love, and honour fail to fway,
Fictitious bonds, the bonds of wealth and law,
Still gather ſtrength, and force unwilling awe.
Hence all obedience bows to theſe alone,
And talent finks, and merit weeps unknown;
Till time may come, when ftript of all her charms,
The land of ſcholars, and the nurſe of arms,
Where noble ſtems tranfmit the patriot flame,
Where kings have toil'd, and poets wrote for fame,
I
One


66
One fink of level avarice fhall lie,
And ſcholars, foldiers, kings, unhonour'd die.
Yet think not, thus when Freedom's ills I ftate,
I mean to flatter kings, or court the great ;
Ye pow'rs of Truth that bid my ſoul aſpire,
Far from my boſom drive the low defire;
And thou, fair Freedom, taught alike to feel
The rabble's rage, and tyrant's angry ſteel;
Thou tranfitory flow'r, alike undone
By proud contempt, or favour's foft'ring fun,
Still may thy blooms the changeful clime endure,
I only would reprefs them to fecure:
For juft experience tells, in ev'ry foil,
That thofe who think muft govern thoſe that toil;
And all that Freedom's higheſt aims can reach,
Is but to lay proportion'd loads on each.
Hence, fhould one order difproportion'd grow,
Its double weight muſt ruin all below.
O then how blind to all that Truth requires,
Who think it Freedom when a part aſpires!
Calm is my foul, nor apt to rife in arms,
Except when faſt-approaching danger warms :
But when contending chiefs blockade the throne,
Contracting regal pow'r to ftretch their own;
When I behold a factious band agree
To call it Freedom when themſelves are free;
Each wanton judge new penal ſtatutes draw,
Laws grind the poor, and rich men rule the law;
The
"


67
The wealth of climes, where favage nations roam,
Pillag'd from flaves to purchaſe flaves at home;
Fear, pity, juftice, indignation ſtart,
Tear off reſerve, and bear my fwelling heart;
Till half a patriot, half a coward grown,
I fly from petty tyrants to the throne
Yes, brother, curfe with me that baleful hour,
When firſt ambition ſtruck at regal pow'r;
And thus polluting honour in its fource,
Gave wealth to fway the mind with double force.
Have we not feen, round Britain's peopled fhore,
Her uſeful fons exchang'd for uſeleſs ore?
Seen all her triumphs but deftruction haſte,
Like ftaring tapers bright'ning as they waſte;
Seen opulence, her grandeur to maintain,
Lead ftern depopulation in her train,
And over fields where ſcatter'd hamlets rofe,
In barren, folitary pomp repofe?
Have we not ſeen at pleaſure's lordly call,
The fmiling, long-frequented village fall?
Behold the duteous fon, the fire decay'd,
The modeſt matron, and the bluſhing maid,
Forc'd from their homes, a melancholy train,
To traverſe climes beyond the weſtern main ;
Where wild Ofwego fpreads her fwamps around,
And Niagara ftuns with thund'ring found.
Ev'n now, perhaps, as there fome pilgrim ftrays
Thro' tangled forefts and thro' dang'rous ways;
I 2
Where


68
Where beafts with man divided empire claim,
And the brown Indian marks with murd'rous aim;
There, while above the giddy tempeft flies,
And all around diſtreſsful yells ariſe,
The penfive exile, bending with his woe,
To ſtop too fearful, and too faint to go,
Cafts a long look where England's glories fhine,
And bids his bofom fmpathize with mine.
Vain, very vain, my weary fearch to find
That blifs which only centers in the mind :
Why have I ftray'd, from pleaſure and repofe,
To feek a good each government beſtows?
In ev'ry government, though terrors reign,
Though tyrant kings, or tyrant laws reſtrain,
How fmall of all that human hearts endure,
That part which laws or kings can cauſe or cure.
Still to ourſelves in ev'ry place confign'd,
Our own felicity we make or find:
With fecret courfe, which no loud ſtorms annoy,
Glides the ſmooth current of domeſtic joy.
The lifted axe, the agonizing wheel,
Luke's iron crown, and Damien's bed of ſteel,
To men remote from pow'r but rarely known,
Leave reaſon, faith, and confcience all our own.


RETALIATION: †
A POEM.
OF old, when Scarron his companions invited,
Each gueſt brought his diſh, and the feaſt was
united :
If our (1)landlord fupplies us with beef and with fiſh,
Let each gueſt bring himſelf, and he brings the beſt
difh :
Our (2) Dean fhall be venifon, juſt freſh from the
plains;
Our (3) Burke fhall be tongue with a garniſh of
brains;
Our
† Dr. Goldsmith' and fome of his friends occafionally
dined at the St. James's coffee-house-One day it was
propoſed to write epitaphs on him. His country, dialect
and perfon, furniſhed ſubjects of witticifm. He was called
on for RETALIATION, and at their next meeting produced
this Poem.
(1) The maſter of the St. James's coffee-houſe where
the doctor, and the friends he has characterized in this
poem, occafionally dined.
(2) Doctor Barnard, dean of Derry in Ireland.
(3) Mr. Edmund Burke, member for Wendover.


70
Our (4) Will fhall be wild-fowl, of excellent flavour,
And (5) Dick with his pepper fhall heighten their
favour:
Our (6) Cumberland's ſweet bread, its place ſhall
obtain,
And (7) Douglas is pudding ſubſtantial and plain :
(8) Garrick's a fallad; for in him we fee
Oil, vinegar, fugar and faltnefs agree:
To make out the dinner, full certain I am,
That () Ridge is anchovy, and (1) Reynolds is lamb;
That (2) Hickey's a capon, and, by the fame rule,
Magnanimous GOLDSMITH, a goofberry fool.
At a dinner fo various, at fuch a repaſt,
Who'd not be a glutton, and ſtick to the laſt?
Here,
(4) Mr. William Burke, late fecretary to general Conway,
and member for Bedwin
(5) Mr. Richard Burke, colle&or of Grenada.
(6) Mr. Richard Cumberland, author of the Weſt-Indian,
Faſhionable Lover, the Brothers and other dramatic pieces.
(7) Dr. 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.
(8) David Garrick, Efq; joint patentee and acting ma-
nager of the Theatre Royal, Drury-lane.
(9) Counsellor John Ridge, a gentleman belonging to
the Irish bar:
(1) Sir Joshua Reynolds, Prefident of the Royal Academy.
(2) An eminent Attorney.


71
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.
Here lies the good (3) Dean, reunited 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 (4) 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.
Tho' fraught with all learning, yet ſtraining his
throat,
To perfuade (5) 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;
Tho' equal to all things, for all things unfit,
Too nice for a ſtateſman, too proud for a wit:
For
(3) Vide page 69
(4) Vide page 69.
(5) Mr. T. Townshend, member for Whitechurch.


72
For a patriot too cool; for a drudge, disobedient;
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.
Here lies honeft (6) 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 ſtill right with his argument wrong;
Still aiming at honour, yet fearing to roam,
The coachman was tipfy, the chariot drove home;
Would afk for his merits? alas! he had none;
What was good was fpontaneous, his faults were
you
his own.
Here lies honeft Richard whoſe fate I muſt figh at;
Alas, that fuch frolic fhould now be fo quiet!
What ſpirits were his! what wit and what whim!
(7) 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,
(6) Vide page 70.
(7) Mr. Richard Burke, vide page 70. 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.


73
But, miffing his mirth and agreeable vein,
As often we wiſh'd to have Dick back again.
Here (8) 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 faultlefs, 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.
His fools have their follies fo loſt 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 (9) Douglas retires from his toils to relax,
The fcourge of impoftors, the terror of quacks:
Come, all ye quack bards, and ye quacking divines,
Come, and dance on the fpot where your tyrant
reclines:
K
When
(8) Vide page 70.
(9) Vide page 70.


74
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) Townshend make ſpeeches, and I fhall
compile;
New (5) Lauders and Bowers the Tweed fhall crofs
over,
No countryman living their tricks to diſcover;
Detection her taper fhall quench to a ſpark,
And Scotchman meet Scotchman, and cheat in the
dark.
#
•
Here lies (6) David Garrick; deſcribe 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 ſtyle, wrote down the firſt poet of all anti-
quity.
(4) Vide page 71.
(5) Vide note to page 70.
(6) Vide page 70.


75
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 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 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, almoſt to diſeaſe,
Who pepper'd the higheſt, 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,
ſo grave,
Vhat 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.


76
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 ſpirit, wherever it flies,
To act as an angel, and mix with the ſkies:
Thofe poets, who owe their beſt fame to his ſkill,
Shall ſtill 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 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 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 honeſt? ah, no!
Then what was his failing? come tell it, and burn
He was, could he help it? a ſpecial attorney.
ye.
Here (3) Reynolds is laid, and to tell you my
mind,
He has not left a wifer or better behind;
(1) Vide page 74.
(2) Vide page 70.
(3) Vide page 70.
His


77
His pencil was ſtriking, 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 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.
POSTSCRIPT.*
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 reliſh'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
Goldſmith uſed to fay it was impoffible to keep him com-
pany without being infected with the itch of punning.


78
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 ſo 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 viſit 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.


79
760
Merry Whitefoord, farewel! for thy fake I admit
That a Scot may have humour, I had almoſt ſaid
wit:
This debt to thy mem'ry I cannot refuſe,
"Thou beft humour'd man, with the worft
"humour'd mufe."
ON A BEAUTIFUL YOUTH STRUCK
BLIND BY LIGHTNING.
IMITATED FROM THE SPANISH.
SURE
'twas by Providence defign'd,
Rather in pity than in hate,
That he ſhould be, like Cupid, blind,
To fave him from Narciffus' fate.


SON G. *
Ан
H me when fhall I married be ?·
Lovers are plenty; but fail to relieve me
He, fond youth! that could carry me.
Offers to love, but means to deceive me.
But I will rally and combat the ruiner:
Not a look, not a fmile fhall my paffion diſcover,
She that gives all to the falfe one purſuing her,
Makes but a penitent, and lofes a lover.
"SIR,
"I fend you a fmall production of the late Doctor
"Goldſmith, which has never been publiſhed, and which
"might, perhaps, have been totally loft, had I not fecured
"it. He intended it as a fong in the character of Mifs
"Hardcaſtle, in his admirable comedy of "She Stoops
"to Conquer," but it was left out, as Mrs. Bulkley, who
"played the part, did not fing. He fung it himſelf, in
"private companies, very agreeably. The tune is a pretty
"Irish air, called The Humours of Balamagairy, to which
"he told me he found it very difficult to adapt words; but
"he has fucceeded very happily in thefe few lines. As I
"could fing the tune, and was fond of them, he was fo
"good as to give me them, about a year ago, juft as I was
"leaving London, and bidding him adieu for that ſeaſon,
"little apprehending that it was a laft farewell. I preſerve
"this little relic, in his own hand-writing, with an affec-
❝tionate care.
"I am, Sir,
"Your humble fervant.
JAMES BOSWELL.


A SONNET.
WEEPING, murmuring, complaining,
Loft to ev'ry gay delight:
Myra, too fincere for feigning,
Fears th' approaching bridal night.
Yet why impair thy bright perfection?
Or dim thy beauty with a tear?
Had Myra follow'd my direction,
She long had wanted caufe of fear.
L
1


EPILOGUE
ΤΟ
SHE STOOPS TO CONQUER.
ELL, having ſtoop'd to conquer with fuccefs,
And gain'd a huſband without aid from drefs;
Still as a bar maid, I could with it too,
As I have conquer'd him to conquer you :
And let me fay, for all your refolution,
That pretty bar-maids have done execution.
Our life is all a play, compos'd to pleaſe,
"We have our exits and our entrances."
The first act fhews the fimple country maid,
Harmleſs and young, of ev'ry thing afraid;
Bluſhes when hir'd, and with unmeaning action,
"I hopes as how to give you fatisfaction."
Her fecond act difplays a livelier fcene,-
Th' unblufhing bar maid of a country inn,
Who whiſks about the houſe, at market caters,
Talks loud, coquets the guests, and fcolds the
waiters,
Next the ſcene ſhifts to town, and there fhe foars,
The chop-houfe toaft of ogling connoifieurs.
On


83
On 'fquires and cits fhe there difplays her arts,
And on the gridiron broils her lover's hearts
And as the fmiles, her triumphs to compleat,
Even common council-men forget to eat.
The fourth act fhews her wedded to the 'fquire,
And madam now begins to hold it higher;
Pretends to tafte, at Operas cries caro,
And quits her Nancy Dawfon, for Che Faro.
Doats upon dancing, and in all her pride.
Swims round the room, the Heinel of Cheapfide:
Ogles and leers with artificial fkill,
}
'Till having loft in age her power to kill,
She fits all night at cards, and ogles at ſpadille.
Such, thro' our lives, the eventful hiſtory-
The fifth and laft act ſtill remains for me.
The bar-maid now for your protection prays,
Turns female Barrifter, and pleads for Bays.
L 2


STANZAS
ON THE
TAKING OF QUEBEC.
AMIDST the clamour of exulting joy,
Which triumph forces from the patriot heart;
Grief dares to mingle her foul-piercing voice,
And quells the raptures which from pleaſure ſtart.
O, WOLFE! to thee a ftreaming flood of woe,
Sighing we pay, and think e'en conqueft dear:
Quebec in vain ſhall teach our breaſt to glow,
Whilft thy fad fate extorts the heart-wrung tear.
Alive, the foe thy dreadful vigour fled,
And faw thee fall with joy-pronouncing eyes :
Yet they ſhall know thou conquereft, though dead
Since from thy tomb a thouſand heroes riſe.


THE HAUNCH OF VENISON;
A POETIC EPISTLE
TO LORD
CLARE.
THANKS, my lord, for your veniſon; for finet
or fatter
Never rang'd in a foreſt, or ſmoak'd on a platter ;
The haunch was a picture for painters to ſtudy,
The fat was fo white, and the lean was fo ruddy:
Though my ftomach was fharp, I could ſcarce help
regretting,
To fpoil fuch a delicate picture by eating:
I had thoughts, in my chamber to place it in view,
To be fhewn to my friends as a piece of virtu;
As in fome Irifh houfes, where things are fo fo,
One
gammon of bacon hangs up for a ſhow :
But, for eating a rafher of what they take pride in,
They'd as foon think of eating the pan it is fry'd in.
But hold let me paufe don't I hear you
pronounce,
This tale of the bacon's a damnable bounce;
Well, fuppofe it a bounce-fure a poet may try,
By a bounce now and then, to get courage to fly.
But


86
But, my lord, it's no bounce; I proteft in my turn,
It's a truth-and your lordſhip may afk Mr. Burn. §
tale as I gaz'd on the haunch,
I thought of a friend that was trufty and ftaunch;
So I cut it and fent it to Reynolds undreft,
To
go on with
my
-
To paint it, or eat it, just as he lik'd beſt.
Of the neck and the breaſt I had next to diſpoſe;
'Twas a neck and a breaſt that might rival Monroe's.
But at parting with thefe I was puzzled again,
With the how, and the who, and the where and
the when.
There's H-d, and C-y, and H-rth, and H-ff,
I think they love venifon-I know they love beef,
There's my countryman Higgins-Oh! let him
alone,
For making a blunder, or picking a bone,
But hang it to poets who feldom can eat,
Your very good mutton's a very good treat;
Such dainties to them their health it might hurt,
It's like fending them ruffles, when wanting a ſhirt.
While thus I debated, in reverie center'd,
An acquaintance, a friend as he call'd himſelf,
enter'd ;
An under-bred, fine ſpoken fellow was he,
And he fmil'd as he look'd at the venison and me.
What have we got here?-why, this is good eating!
Your own I fuppofeor is it in waiting?
Why
§ Lord Clare's nephew.


87
Why whofe fhould it be?
I get theſe things often ;
Some lords, my acquaintance, that ſettle the nation,
Are pleas'd to be kind- -but I hate oftentation.
cried I, with a flounce,
but that was a bounce:
If that be the cafe then, cried he, very gay,
I'm glad I have taken this houſe in my way.
To-morrow you take a poor dinner with me;
No words I infift o'nt-preciſely at three:
We'll have Johnfon and Burke, all the wits will be
there,
My acquaintance is flight, or I'd aſk my lord Clare.
And, now that I think on't, as I am a finner!
We wanted this venifon to make out the dinner.
What fay you?-a pafty, it fhall, and it must,
And my wife, little Kitty, is famous for cruft.
Here, porter-this venifon with me to Mile-end
No ftirring I beg-my dear friend my dear
--
-
-
friend!
Thus fnatching his hat he brufht off like the wind,
And the porter and eatables follow'd behind.
Left alone to reflect, having emptied my ſhelf,
And nobody with me at ſea but myſelf;" *
Tho' I could not help thinking my gentleman hafty,
Yet Johnfon and Burke, and a good veniſon paſty,
Were
• See the letters that paffed between his royal highneſs
Henry, duke of Cumberland and lady Grofvenor.-12mo.
1769.


S8
Were, things that I never diflik'd in my life,
Tho' clogg'd with a coxcomb, and Kitty his wife.
So next day in due fplendour to make my approach,
I drove to his door in my own hackney coach,
When come to the place where we all were to
dine,
(A chair lumber'd cloſet juſt twelve feet by nine:)
My friend bade me welcome, but ftruck me quite
dumb,
With tidings that Johnſon and Burke would not
come,
113
For I knew it, he cried, both eternally fail,
The one with his fpeeches, and t'other with Thrale
But no matter, I'll warrant we'll make up the party
With two full as clever, and ten times as hearty.
The one is a Scotchman, the other a Jew,
They both of them merry, and authors like you
The one writes the Snarler, the other the Scourge
Some thinks he writes Cinna-he owns to Panurge.
While thus he deſcrib'd them by trade and by name,
They enter'd, and dinner was ferv'd as they came.
At the top a fried liver, and bacon was ſeen,
At the bottom was tripe in a ſwinging tureen;
At the fides there was fpinnage, and pudding made
hot;
In the middle a place where the paſty—was not.
Now, my lord, as for tripe it's my utter averſion,
And your bacon I hate like a Turk or a Perfian;
So


89
life.
y his
app
Coac
rogue,
11
w With his long-winded fpeeches, his fmiles and his
ni
Dy
brogue,
And, madam, quoth he, may this bit be my poiſon'
prettier dinner I never fet eyes on :
A
Pray, a flice of your liver, tho' may I be curft!
ould But I've eat of your tripe, 'till I'm ready to burft;
The tripe, quoth the Jew, with his chocolate cheek,
›urge
nurge.
I could dine on this tripe ſeven days in the week :
Thrale I like thefe-here dinners fo pritty and ſmall;
party, But your friend there, the doctor, eats nothing at all.
arty. Oh! oh! quoth my friend, he'll come on in a trice,
He's keeping a corner for fomething that's nice:
There's a pafty--a pafty! repeated the Jew;
I don't care, If I keep a corner for't too.
What the de'il, mon, a paſty! re-echo'd the Scot,
name, Though fplitting, I'll ftill keep a corner for that.
We'll all keep a corner, the lady cried out,
We'll all keep a corner was echo'd about.
While thus we refolv'd, and the pafty delay'd,
With looks that quite petrified, enter'd the maid;
A vifage fo fad, and fo pale with affright,
Wak'd Priam in drawing his curtains by night.
not. But we quickly found out, for who could miſtake
came.
fion,
her?
me qu
So there I fat ftuck, like a horſe in a pound,
While the bacon and liver went merrily round :
But what vex'd me moft, was that d-'d Scottiſh
yo
en,
;
nade
Gan; That he came with fome terrible news from the
So
baker;
26588
M


90
And fo it fell out, for that negligent floven,
Had fhut out the paſty on ſhutting his oven.
Sad Philomel thus--but let ſimiles drop-
And now that I think on't, the ſtory may ſtop.
To be plain, my good lord, it's but labour miſplac'd,
To fend fuch good verſes to one of your taſte;
You've got an odd fomething- -a kind of dil-
cerning-
A reliſh-a tafte-ficken'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 amifs,
You may make a miſtake, and think ſlightly of this.


THE CLOWN's REPLY.
JOHN
OHN TROT was defired by two witty Peers
To tell them the reaſon why affes had ears?
"An't pleaſe you, "quoth John, "I'm not giv'n
to letters,
Nor dare I pretend to know more than my betters;
Howe'er from this time I fhall ne'er fee your graces,
As I hope to be fav'd! without thinking on affes."
Edinburgh, 1753 -
EPITAPH
ON
EDWARD PURDON..ti
HERE lies poor Ned Purdon, from miſery freed,
Who long was a bookſeller's hack;
He led fuch a damnable life in this world,-
I don't think, he'll wifh to come back..
+ This gentleman was educated at Trinity College,
Dublin; but having waſted his patrimony, he enliſted as a
foot foldier. Growing tired of that employment, he ob-
tained his diſcharge, and became a fcribbler in the news-
papers. He tranflated Voltaire's Henriade.
M 2


AN ELEGY
ON THE GLORY OF HER SEX,
MRS. MARY BLAIŻE,
GOOD
people all, with one accord,
Lament for madam Blaize,
Who never wanted a good word—
From thoſe who ſpoke her praiſe.
The needy feldom paffed her door,
And always found her kind;
She freely lent to all the poor-
Who left a pledge behind.
She ftrove the neighbourhood to pleaſe,
With manners wond'rous winning;
And never follow'd wicked ways-
Unleſs when ſhe was finning.
At church, in filks and fatins new,
With hoop of monftrous fize;
She never flumber'd in her pew-
But when ſhe ſhut her eyes.
Her


93
Her love was fought, I do aver,
By twenty beauxs and more;
The king himſelf has follow'd her-
When ſhe has walk'd before.
But now her wealth and finery fled,
Her hangers-on cut ſhort all; }
The doctors found, when he was dead-
Her laft diſorder mortal,
Let us lament, in forrow fore,
For Kent-ſtreet well may fay,
That had fhe liv'd a twelve-month more-
She had not dy'd to day.


THE
LOGICIANS REFUTED.
IN IMITATION OF DEAN SWIFT*.
LOGICIA
OGICIANS have but ill defin'd
As rational the human mind:
Reaſon, they ſay, belongs to man,
But let them prove it if they can.
Wife Ariftotle and Smiglefius,
By Ratiocinations fpecious,
Have ftrove to prove with great precifion,
With definition and divifion,
Homo eft natione preditum ;
But for
my foul I cannot credit 'em;
And muſt in ſpite of them maintain,
That man and all his ways are vain ;
And that this boafted lord of nature,
Is both a weak and erring creature.
That
* This Imitation having originally been adopted by Mr.
Faulkner as a genuine Poem by Swift, it has been reprinted
in every fubfequent edition of the Dean's Poems; and was
not difcovered till it was too late to take it out of the pre-
fent edition.


95
"
That instinct is a furer guide,
Than reafon-boaſting mortal's pride;
And that brute beaſts are far before 'em,
Deus eft anima brutorum.
Who ever knew an honeft brute,
At law his neighbour profecute,
Bring action for affault and battery,
Or friend beguile with lies and flattery?
O'er plains they ramble unconfined,
No politics diſturb their mind;
They eat their meals, and take their ſport,
Nor know who's in or out at court:
They never to the levee go
To treat as deareſt friend, a foe:
They never importune his grace,
Nor ever cringe to men in place;
Nor undertake a dirty job,
Nor draw the quill to write for Bob.
Fraught with invective, they ne'er go
To folks at Pater-nofter-Row:
No judges, fiddlers, dancing mafters,
No pick-pockets, or poetaſters,
Are known to honeft quadrupeds;
No fingle brute his fellows leads.
Brutes never meet in bloody fray,
Nor cut each others throat for pay.
Of beafts, it is confefs'd the ape
Comes neareſt us in human ſhape;
Like man he imitates each faſhion,
And malice is his ruling paffion:
And
1


96
But both in malice and grimaces,
A courtier any ape furpaffes,
Behold him humbly cringing wait
Upon the miniſter of ſtate:
View him foon after to inferiors
Aping the conduct of fuperiors:
He promiſes with equal air,
And to perform takes equal care.
He in his turn finds imitators;
At court, the porters, lacquies, waiters,
Their maſter's manners ftill contract,
And footmen, lords, and dukes can act,
Thus at the court, both great and ſmall,
Behave alike, for all all.
ape
FINIS.





D.C
t





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