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But man, all-feeling and awake,
For you these cherries I protect, The gloomy scene surveys ;
To you these plums belong; With present ills his heart must ache,
Sweet is the fruit that you have peck’d, Art pant for brighter days.
But sweeter far your song. Old Winter, halting o'er the mead,
Let then this league betwixt is made Bids me and Mary mourn ;
Our mutual interests guard: But lovely Spring peeps o'er his head,
Mine be the gift of fruit and shade;
Your songs be my reward.
Address to a Nightingale. THOMPSON. And weave fresh garlands ev'ry day,
O NIGHTINGALE! best poet of the grove, To crown the smiling Hours.
That plaintive strain can ne'er belong to thee, And if a tear, that speaks regret
Blest in the full possession of thy love: Of happier times, appear,
O lend that strain, sweet nightingale! to me, A glimpse of joy that we have met
'Tis mine, alas ! to mourn my wretched fate; Shall shine, and dry the tear.
I love a maid who all my bosom charms,
Yet lose my days without this lovely mate; Invitation to the feathered Race. Greaves, Inhuman Fortune keeps her from my arms. AGAIN the balmy zephyr blows,
You, happy birds! by nature's simple laws Fresh verdure decks the grove;
Lead your soft lives, sustain'd by nature's fare; Each bird with rernal rapture glows,
You dwell wherever roving fancy draws, And tunes his notes to love.
And love and song is all your pleasing care: Ye gentle warblers! hither fly,
But we, vain slaves of int’rest and of pride, And shun the noon-tide heat:
Dare not be blest, lest envious tongues should My shrubs a cooling shade supply;
blame; My groves, a safe retreat.
And hence in vain I languish for my bride : Here, freely hop from spray to spray,
O mourn with me, sweet bird ! my hapless Or weave the mossy nest :
flame. Here, rove and sing the live-long day;
Retaliation. GOLDSMITH. At night, here sweetly rest.
The title and nature of this Poem show that it owed its Amid this cool translucent rill
birth to some preceding circumstances of festive mer. That trickles down the glade,
riment, which from the wit of the company and the Here bathe your plumes, here drink your fill,
very ingenious author's peculiar oddities, were proAnd revel in the shade.
bably enlivened by some strokes of humor. Thja No school-boy rude, to mischief prone,
piece was only intended for the Doctor's private E'er shows his ruddy face,
amusement, and that of the particular friends who
were its subject; and he anfortunately did not live to Or twangs his bow, or hurls a stone,
revise, or even finish it, in the manner which he inIn this sequester'd place.
tended. The public have, however, already shown Hither the vocal thrush repairs ;
how much they were pleased with its appearance, Secure the linnet sings;
even in its present form. The goldfinch dreads no slimy snares
Orold, when Scarron his companionsinvited, To clog her painted wings.
Each guest brought his dish, and the feast was Sad Philomel ! ah, quit thy haunt
united; Yon distant woods among,
If our landlord* supplies us with beef and with
fish, And round my friendly grotto chant Thy sweetly plaintive song.
Let each guest bring himself, and he brings
the best dish : Let not the harmless red-breast fear,
Our Deant shall be venison, just fresh from Domestic bird, to come,
the plains ; And seek a sure asylum here,
Our Burket shall be tongue, with a garnish of With one that loves his home.
brains ; My trees for you, ye artless tribe !
Our Wills shall be wild-fowl, of excellent Shall score of fruit preserve;
Aavour ; O! let me thus your friendship bribe ; And Dick || with his pepper shall heighten their Come, feed without reserve.
savour : • The master of the St. James's Coffee-house, where the Doctor and the friends he has characterized in this poem held an occasional club.
+ Doctor Barnard, Dean of Derry in Ireland, author of many ingenious pieces. * Mr. Edmund Burke, member for Wendover, and one of the greatest orators in this kingdom. Š Mr. William Burke, late Secretary to General Conway, and member for Bedwin.
Mr. Richard Burke, Collector of Grenada, no less remarkable in the walks of wit and humour, than his brother Edmund Burke is justly distinguished in all the branches of useful and polite literature.
Our Cumberland's* sweet-bread its place shall Would you ask for his merits, alas! he had none: obtain,
What was good was spontaneous, his faults And Douglast is pudding substantial and plain:
were his owii. Our Garrick'st a salad, for in him we see Here lies honest Richard, whose fate I must Oil, vinegar, sugar, and saltness agree:
sigh at, To make out the dinner full certain I am Alas, that such frolic should now be so quiet! That Ridges is anchovyand Reynolds || is lamb, Whatspirits were his, what witand what whim, That Hickey's a capon : and by the same rule, Now breaking a jest, and now breaking a Magnanimous Goldsmith a gooseberry-fool.
[ball, At a dinner so various, at such a repast, Now wrangling and grumbling to keep up the Who'd not be a glutton, and stick to the last? Now teasing and rexing, yet laughing at all ! Here, waiter, more wine, let me sit while I'm In short, so provoking a devil was Dick, able,
| That we wish'd him full ten times a day at Old Till all my companions sink under the table;
Nick; Then with chaos and blunders encircling my But, missing his mirth and agreeable vein, head,
| As often we wish'd to have Dick back again. Let me ponder, and tell what I think of the dead. Here Cumberland lies, having acted his parts,
Here lies the good Dean, re-united to earth, The Terence of England, the mender of hearts; Who mix'd reason with pleasure, and wisdom A flattering painter, who made it his care with mirth :
Todraw men as they ought to be, not as they are. If he had any faults, he has left us in doubt, His gallants are all faultless, his women divine, At least in six weeks I could not find 'em out; And Comedy wonders at being so fine; Yet some have declar'd, and it can't be denied Like a tragedy-queen he has dizen'd her out, 'em,
['em. Or rather like Tragedy giving a rout. That sly-boots was cursedly cunning to hide His fools have their follies so lost in a crowd Here lies our good Edmund, whose genius Of virtues and feelings, that folly grows proud; was such
And coxcombs, alike in their failings alone, We scarcely can praise it or blame it too much ; | Adopting his portraits are pleas'd with their own. Who, born for the universe, narrow'd his Say, where has our poet this malady caught, mind,
[mankind : Or wherefore his characters thus without fault? And to party gave up what was meant for Say, was it, that vainly directing his view Though fraught with all learning, yet straining To find out men’s virtues, and finding them few, his throat
Thim a vote : Quite sick of pursuing each troublesome elf, To persuade Tommy Townshend ** to lend He grew lazy at last, and drew from himself? Vho, too deep for his hearers, still went on re- Here Douglas retires from his toils to relax, fining,
sof dining; | The scourge of impostors, the terror of quacks. And thought of convincing, while they thought Come all ye quack' bards, and ye quacking diThough equal to all things, for all things unfit,
[reclines. Too nice for a statesman, too proud for a wit; Come and dance on the spot where your tyrant For a patriot too cool; for a drudge disobedient; When Satire and Censure encircled his throne, And too fond of the right to pursue the expedient. I fear'd for your safety, I fear'd for my own; In short, 'twas his fate, unemploy'd or in place, | But now he is gone, and we want a detector, Sir,
Our Dodds shall be pious, our Kenricks shall To eat mutton cold, and cut blocks with a razor. lecture; Here lies honest William, whose heart was Macpherson write bombast, and call it a style; a mint,
(was in't; Our Townshend make speeches; and I shall While the owner ne'er knew half the good that compile;
[over, The pupil of impulse, it forc'd him along, New Lauders and Bowers the Tweed shall cross His conduct still right, with his argument No countryman living their tricks to discover: wrong;
Detection her taper shall quench to a spark, Still aiming at honor, yet fearing to roam, And Scotchman meet Scotchman and cheat in The coachman was tipsy, thechariot drove home: the dark.
* Author of the West Indian, Fashionable Lovers, The Brothers, and other dramatic pieces.
+ Doctor Douglas, Canon of Windsor, an ingenious Scotch gentleman, who has no less distinguished himself as a citizen of the world, than a sound critic, in detecting several literary mistakes, or rather forgeries, of his countrymen ; particularly Lauder on Milton, and Bower's History of the Popes.
I David Garrick, Esq. joint Patentee and acting Manager at the Theatre Royal, Drury Lane.
$ Counsellor John Ridge, a gentleman belonging to the Irish bar, the relish of whose agreeable and pointed conversation is admitted, by all his acquaintance, to be very properly compared to the above sauce. # Sir Joshua Reynolds, President of the Royal Academy.
An eminent Attorney. ** Mr.T. Townshend, member for Whitchurch.
tt Mr. Richard Burke. This gentleman having slightly fractured one of his arms and legs at different times, the Doctor has rallied him on those accidents, as a kind of retributive justice for breaking his jests upon other people.
Here lies David Garrick, describe him who | Lines from Dr. BARNARD Dean of Derry, to can?
Dr. GOLDSMITH and Mr. CUMBERLAND, An abridgment of all that was pleasant in man;
n; Dear Noll and dear Dick, since you've As an actor, confess'd without rival to shine;
made us so merry, As a wit, if not first, in the very first line ;
[Derry. Yet with talents like these, and an excellent
Accept the best thanks of the poor Dean of
Though I here must confess that your meat heart, The man had his failings, a dupe to his art;
and your wine Like an ill-judging beauty his colors he spread. Are not quite to my taste, though they're both And beplaster'd with rouge his own natural red. For
very fine; On the stage he was natural, simple, affecting; | Now there's nothing I hate so, as drinking
For sherry's a liquor monastic, you own; "Twas only that when he was off he was acting;
alone: With no reason on earth to go out of his way,
vicars; He turn'd and he varied full ten times a day;
?. It may do for your monks, or your curates and Though secure of our hearts, yet confoundedly
But for my part, I'm fond of inore sociable lio sick
(sauce is If they were not his own by finessing and trick;
Your venison's delicious, though too sweet your He cast off his friends as a huntsman his pack,
Sed non ego maculis offendar paucis. For he knew when he pleas'd he could whistle
So, soon as you please, you may serve me your
[bishop. Of praise a mere glutton, he swallow'd what
But instead of your sherry pray make me a And the puff of a dunce he mistook it for fame; Till his relish grown callous, almost to disease, On Dr. Goldsmith's Characteristical Cookery. Who pepper'd the highest was sure best to please.
A Jeu d'Esprit. But let us be candid, and speak out our mind :
By David Garrick, Esq. If dunces applauded, he paid them in kind. Are these the choice dishes the Doctor has Ye Kenricks, ye Kellys, and Woodfalls so grave,
[us ? What a commerce was yours, while you got Is this the great poet whose works so content and you gave!
Trais d, This Goldsmith's fine feast, who has written How did Grub-street reecho the shouts that you fine books?
(cooks. While he was be-Roscius'd, and you were be- Heaven sends us good meat, but the Devil sends
prais'd! But peace to his spirit, wherever it Aies, To act as an angel, and mix with the skies! Jupiler and Mercury. A Falle.-Written Those poets who owe their best fame to his skill,
some time since. GARRICK. Shall still be his flatterers, go where he will; “Here, Hermes," says Jove, who with Old Shakspeare receive him with praise and nectar was mellow, with love,
“ Go fetch me some clay, I will make an odd And Beaumonts and Bens be his Kellys above. fellow. Here Hickey reclines, a most blunt, pleasant Right and wrong shall be jumbled, much gold creature,
and some dross; And slander itself must allow him good-nature: Without cause be he pleas'd, without cause be Hecherish'd his friend, and he relish'da bumper; he cross. Yet one fault he had,and that one was a thumper. Be sure, as I work, to throw in contradictions ; Perhaps you may ask if the man was a miser? | A great love of truth, yet a mind turn'd to fic. I answer, No, no, for he always was wiser.
tions: Too courteous, perhaps, or obligingly flat? Now mix these ingredients, which, warm'd in His very worst foe can't accuse him of that.
[ruking: Perhaps he confided in men as they go, Turn to learning, and gaming, religion, and And so was too foolishly honest? - Åh no! | With the love of a wench, let his writings be Then what was his failing? come, tell it, and
[fine taste; burn ye.
Tip his tongue with strange matter, his pen with He was, could he help it ? a special attorney. That the rake and the poet o'er all may prevail,
Here Reynolds is laid, and to tell you my mind, Set fire to the head, and set fire to the tail: [it, He has not left a wiser or better behind : For the joy of each sex, on the world I'll bestow His pencil was striking, resistless, and grand ; | This Scholar, Rake, Christian, Dupe, GameHis manners were gentle,complying, and bland; ster, and Poet: Sull born' to improve us in every part,
Though a mixture so odd, he shall merit great His pencil our faces, his manners our heart:
[name! To coxcombs averse, yet most civilly steering, And among brother-mortals be Goldsmith his When they judg'd without skill he was still When on earth this strange meteor no more hard of hearing;
[and stuff, shall appear, When they talk'd of their Raphaels, Coreggios, You, Hermes, shall fetch him to make us sport He shifted his trumpet, and only took snuff. here!”
• Sir Joshua Reynolds was so remarkably deaf as to be under the necessity of using an eartrumpet in company.
The Lamentation of Glumdalclitch for the Loss Hast thou for these now ventur'd from the shore, of Grildrig.
Thy bark a bean-shell, and a straw thy oar? A Pastoral. Gay.
Or in thy box, now bounding on the main,
Shall I ne'er bear thyself and house again! Soon as Glumdalclitch miss'd her pleasing And shall I set thee on my hand no more, care,
To see thee leap the lines, and traverse o'er She wept, she blubber'd, and she tore her hair. My spacious palm? of stature scarce a span, No British miss sincerer grief has known, Mimic the actions of a real man? Her squirrel missing, or her sparrow flown. No more behold thee turn my watch's key, She furi'd her sampler, and haul'd in her thread, As seamen at a capstern anchors weigh? And stuck her needle into Grildrig's bed; How wast thou wont to walk withcautious tread, Then spread her hands, and with a bounce let fall A dish of tea, like milk-pail, on thy head! Her baby, like the giant in Guildhall. How chase the mite that bure thy cheese away, In peals of thunder now she roars, and now And keep the rolling maggot at a bay!" She gently whimpers like a lowing cow; She said; but broken accents stopp'd her voice, Yet lovely in her sorrow still appears :
Soft as the speaking-trumpet's mellow noise. Her locks dishevell’d, and her flood of tears, She sobb'd a storm, and wip'd her flowing eyes, Seem like the lofty barn of some rich swain, Which seem'd like two broad sunsin misty skies. When from the thatch drips fastashow'rofrain. O squander not thy grief! those tears command
In vain she search'd each cranny of the house, To weep upon our cod in Newfoundland : Each gaping chink iinpervious to a mouse. The plenteous pickle shali preserve the fish, “Was it for this,” she cried, “ with daily care and Europe taste thy sorroivs in a dish. Within thy reach I set the vinegar ; And fill'd ihe cruet with the acid tide, While pepper-water worms thy bait supplied,
A Receipt for stewing Teal. Gar. Where twin'd the silver eel around thy hook,
Take a knuckle of veal; And all the little monsters of the brook ?
You may buy it or steal: Sure in that lake he dropp’d: my Grilly's In a few pieces cut it, drown'd."
In a stewing-pan put it, She dragg’d the cruet, but no Grildrig found. Salt, pepper, and mace,
« Vain is thy courage, Grilly, vain thy boast: Must season this knuckle ; But little creatures enterprise the most.
Then what's join'd to a place,
Some sprigs of that bed &
Put no water at all,
Put this pot of Wood's metal ||
In a hot boiling kettle, In the green thicket of a mossy stone;
And there let it be Or tumbled from the toadstool's slippery round,
(Mark the doctrine I teach) Perhaps all niaim'd,lie grovelling on the ground? About-let me seeDost thou embosom'd in the lovely rose,
Thrice as long as you preach . Or sunk within the peach's down, repose ?
So skimming the fat off, Within the king-cup if thy limbs are spread, Say grace with your hat off. Or in the golden cowslip's velvet head,
0, then with what rapture O show me, Flora, 'midst those sweets, the flow'r Will it fill dean and chapter ! Where sleeps my Grildrig in this fragrant bow'r!
“ But, ah! I fear thy little fancy roves On little females, and on little loves,
Spring. An Ode. Dr. Johnsos. Thy pigmy children, and thy tiny spouse, Stern Winter now, by Spring repressid, The baby playthings that adorn thy house, Forbears the long-continued strife; Doors, windows, chimneys, and the spacious And Nature, on her naked breast, Equal in size to cells of honey-combs. (rooms, Delights to catch the gales of life.
• Vulgo, salary. + Supposed sorrel. This is by Dr. Bentley thought to be time, or thyme. & Parsley. Vide Chamberlayne,
Of this composition, see the works of the Copper-farthing Dean. 1 Which we suppose to be near four hours.
Now o'er the rural kingdom roves
Thy looks perpetual joys impart,
Whilst, all my wish and thine complete, And vegetation paints the plain.
By turns we languish and we burn, Unhappy whom to beds of pain
Let sighing gales our sighs repeat, Arthritic tyranny consigns * !
Our murmurs, murmuring brooks return. Whom smiling nature courts in vain, Though rapture sings, and beauty shines!
| Let me, when nature calls to rest,
And blushing skies the morn foretel, Yet though my limbs disease invades,
Sink on the down of Stella's breast, Her wings Imagination tries,
And bid the waking world farewell. And bears me to the peaceful shades
Where 's humble turrets rise. Here stop, my soul, thy rapid flight,
Nor from the pleasing grores depart, Where first great nature charm'd my sight,
Autumn. An Ode. Dr. Johnson. Where wisdom first inform’d my heart. Alas! with swift and silent pace Here let me through the vales pursue
Impatient time rolls on the year; A guide, a father, and a friend ;
The seasons change, and nature's face Once more great nature's works review,
Now sweetly smiles, now frowns severe. Once more to wisdom's voice attend.
'Twas Spring, 'twas Summer, all was gay, From false caresses, causeless strife,
Now Autumn bends a cloudy brow; Wild hope, vain fear, alike remov'd; The flow'rs of Spring are swept away, Here let me learn the use of life,
And Summer fruits desert the bough. When best enjoy'd, when most improv'd.
The verdant leaves that play'd on high, Teach me, thou venerable bow'r,
And wanton'd on the western breeze, Cool meditation's quiet seat,
Now trod in dust neglected lie,
As Boreas strips the bending trees.
The fields that way'd with golden grain, Or raging factions rush to war,
As russet heaths are wild and bare, Here let me learn to shon the crimes
Not moist with dew, but drench'd in rain; I can't prevent, and will not share.
Nor health nor pleasure wanders there. But lest I fall by subtler foes,
No more, while through the midnight shade Bright wisdom, teach me Curio's art
Beneath the moon's pale orb I stray, The swelling passions to compose,
Sost pleasing woes my heart invade,
As Progne pours the melting lay.
O would some god but wings supply !
To where each morn the Spring restores,
Companion of her Aight I'd Ay.
The downward season's iron reign,
Coinpels to breathe polluted air, Far hence diffuse thy burning ray;
And shiver on a blasted plain. Thy light to distant worlds supply,
What bliss to life can Autumn yield, And wake them to the cares of day.
If glooms, and show'rs, and storms prevail; Come, gentle eve, the friend of case !
And Ceres flies the naked field, Come, Cynthia, lovely queen of night! And Aow'rs, and fruits, and Phæbus fail? Refresh me with a cooling breeze,
O! what remains, what lingers yet, And cheer me with a lambent light.
To cheer me in the darkening hour? Lay me where o'er the verdant ground The grape remains, the friend of wit, Her living carpet nature spreads;
In love and mirth of mighty pow'r. Where the green bow'r, with roses crown'd,
Haste, press the clusters, fill the bowl; In show'rs its fragrant foliage sheds.
Apollo, shoot thy parting ray: Improve the peaceful hour with wine, This gives the sunshine of the soul, Let music die along the grove;
This god of health, and verse, and day. Around the bowl let myrtles twine,
Still, still the jocund strain shall flow, And every strain be tun'd to love.
The pulse with vigorous rapture beat; Come, Stella, queen of all my heart !
My Stella with new charms shall glow, Coare, born to fill its vast desires !
And every bliss in wine shall meet. • The author being ill of the gout.