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You, happy birds! by nature's fimple laws
Lead your foft lives, fuftain'd by Nature's fare;
You dwell wherever roving Fancy draws,

And love and fong is all your pleafing care:
But we, vain flaves of intereft and of pride,
Dare not be bleft, left envious tongues fhould

And hence in vain I languifh for my bride:
O mourn with me, fweet bird! my hapless flame.

RETALIATION: A POEM. GOLDSMITH. THE title and nature of this POEM fhew that it owed its birth to fome preceding circumflances of feftive merriment, which from the wit of the company, and the very ingenious Author's peculiar oddities, were probably enlivened by fome poignant frokes of humour. This piece was only intended for the Doctor's private amufement, and that of the particular friends who were its fubject; and be unfortunately did not live to rewife, or even finish it, in the manner which he intended. The public barve, bowever, already fewn bow much they were pleafed with its appearance, even in its prefent form. Fold, when Scarron his companions invited, Each gueft brought his dish, and the feaft

was united;

If our landlord fupplies us with beef and with fish,
Let each guest bring himself, and he brings the

beft difh:

Our Dean fhall be venifon, just fresh from the plains;

Our Burke fhall be tongue, with a garnish of brains;

Ours Will fhall be wild-fowl, of excellent flavour; And Dick with his pepper shall heighten their favour:

Our ** Cumberland's fweet-bread its place fhall

And ++ Douglas is pudding, fubftantial and plain;
Our 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 Reynolds is lamb,
That Hickey's a capon; and by the fame rule,
Magnanimous Goldfmith a goofberry fool:

At a dinner so various, at such a repast,
Who'd not be a glutton, and stick to the laft?
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 Dean, re-united to earth, Who mix'd reafon with pleasure, and wisdom with mirth :

If he had any faults, he has left us in doubt,
At least in fix weeks I could not find 'em out;
Yet fome have declar'd, and it can't be denied 'em,
That fly-boots was curfedly cunning to hide 'em.

Here lies our good Edmund, whofe genius was

We fcarcely can praife it or blame it too much;
And to party gave up what was meant for man-
Who, born for the Universe, narrow'd his mind,


Tho' fraught with all learning, yet straining his



To perfuade 44 Tommy Townsend to lend him
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 ftatefman, too proud for a wit:
And too fond of the right to pursue the expedient.
For a partriot too cool; for a drudge, disobedient;
In fhort, 'twas his fate, unemploy'd or in place,


To eat mutton cold, and cut blocks with a razor.
Here lies honeft William, whofe heart was &

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The mafter of the St James's Coffee-houfe, where the Doctor, and the friends he has characterized in this poem, held an occafional club.

+ Doctor Barnard, Dean of Derry, in Ireland, author of many ingenious pieces.

Mr. Edmund Burke, member for Wendover, and one of the greatest ora ors in this kingdom.

Mr. William Burke, late Secretary to General Conway, and member for Bedwin.

Mr. Richard Burke, Collector of Granada, no lefs 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.

** Author of the West-Indian, Fafhionable Lover, the Brothers, and other dramatic pieces.

++ Doctor Douglas, Canon of Windfor, an ingenious Scotch gentleman, who has no lefs diftinguished himfelf as a Citizen of the World, than a found Critic, in detecting feveral literary mistakes, or rather forgeries, of his Countrymen; particularly Lauder on Milton, and Bower's Hiftory of the Popes.

David Garrick, Efq. joint Patentee and acting Manager of the Theatre-Royal, Drury-Lane. Counsellor John Ridge, a gentleman belonging to the Irish bar, the relish of whofe agiceable and pointed converfation is admitted, by all his acquaintance, to be very properly compared to the above fauce.

Sir Joshua Reynolds, Prefident of the Royal Academy.

An eminent Attorney,

++ Mr. T. Townsend, member for Whitchurch.


What fpirits were his, what wit and what whim,
Now breaking a jeft, and now breaking a limb;
Now wrangling and grumbling to keep up the ball,
Now teazing and vexing, yet laughing at all!
In short, fo provoking a devil was Dick,
That we wifh'd him full ten times a day at Old

But, miffing his mirth and agreeable vein,
As often we wifh'd to have Dick back again.

Here Cumberland lies, having acted his parts,
The Terence of England, the mender of hearts;
A flattering painter, who made it his care
To draw men as they ought to be, not as they are.
His gallants are all faultlefs, his women divine;
And comedy wonders at being fo fine;
Like a tragedy queen he has dizen'd her out,
Or rather like tragedy giving a rout.
His fools have their follies fo loft in a crowd
Of virtues and fe lings, 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 men's virtues, and finding them few,
Quite fick of pursuing each troublefome eif,
He grew lazy at laft, and drew from himself?

Here 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


When Satire and Cenfure encircled his throne, 1 fear'd for your fafety, I fear'd for my own; But now he is gone, and we want a detector, Our Dodds fhall be pious, our Kenricks fhall le&ure;

Macpherson write bombaft, and call it a ftyle; Our Townshend make speeches, and I thall compile;

New Lauders and Bowers the Tweed fhallcrofs over,
No countryman living their tricks to discover;
Detection her taper thall quench to a spark,
And Scotchman meet Scotchman and cheat in the

Here lies David Garrick, defcribe me who can
An abridgment of all that was pleasant in man;
As an actor, confeft without rival to fhine,
As a wit if not firft, in the very first line;
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 beplatter'd with rouge his own natural red.
On the ftage he was natural, fimple, affecting;

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And flander itself must allow him good-natur.
He cherith'd his friend, and he relish'd a bugt",
Yet one fault he had, and that one was a thump.
Perhaps you may afk if the man was a mili;
I antwer, No, no, for he always was wilr:
Too courteous, perhaps, or obligingly flat;
His very worst foe can't accufe bin 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, andburg,
He was, could he help it? a special attorney.

Here Reynolds is laid; and, to tell you my mind,
He has not left a wifer or better behind,
His pencil was striking, refiftlefs, and grandi
His manners were gentle, complying, and bund;
Still born to improve us in every part,
His pencil our faces, his manners our heart:
To coxcombs averfe, yet moft civilly freeing,
When they judg'd without skill he was it hard
of hearing:

When they talk'd of their Raphaels, Corrego, and stuff,

He fhifted his trumpet, and only took fnuf

LINES from Dr. BARNARD, Dean of Derry, Dr. GOLDSMITH and Mr. CUMBERLAND.

DEAR Noll and dear Dick, since you`ve made us fo merry,

Accept the best thanks of the poor Dean of Derry! Tho' I here muft confefs that your meat and your wine

Are not quite to my tafte, tho' they're both very fine;

For fherry's a liquor monaftic, you own;
Now there's nothing I hate fo-as drinking alone:

i was only that when he was off he was acting: With no reafon on carth 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 finething and trick; * Mr. Richard Burke. This gentleman having slightly fractured one of his arms and legs at different times, the Doctor has rallied him on thofe accidents, as a kind of retributive justice for breaking his jefts upon other people.

Sir Joshua Reynolds is fo remarkably deaf as to be under the neceffity of ufing an carstrumpet in company.

= It may do for your monks, or your curates and | In peals of thunder now fhe roars, and now

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Written fome Time fince.

was mellow,


She gently whimpers like a lowing cow;
Yet lovely in her forrow ftill appears:
Her locks difhevell'd, and her food of tears,
Seem like the lofty barn of fome rich fwain,
When from the thatch drips faft a fhow'r of rain.
In vain the fearch'd each cranny of the houfe,
gaping chink impervious to a moufc.
Was it for this (the cried) with daily care
"Within thy reach I fet the vinegar;
"And fill'd the cruet with the acid tide,
"While pepper-water worms thy bait fupplied,
"Where twin'd the filver eel around thy hook,
"And all the little monfters of the brook!
"Sure in that lake he dropp'd: my Grilly's

She dragg'd the cruet, but no Grildrig found.
"Vain is thy courage, Grilly, vain thy boaft:
"But little creatures enterprize the most.

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Trembling I've feen thee dare the kitten's paw, Nay, mix with children as they play'd at taw, "Nor fear'd the marbles as they bounding flew; "Mables to them, but rolling rocks to you.

"Why did I trust thee with that giddy youth? "Who from a page can ever learn the truth? HERE, Hermes, fays Jove, who with nectar [fellow; "Vers'd in court-tricks, that money-loving boy Go fetch me fome clay-I will make an odd "To fome lord's daughter fold the living toy; Right and wrong fhall be jumbled-much gold" Or rent him limb from limb, in cruel play, "As children tear the wings of flies away. "From place to place o'er Brobdignag I'll roam, "And never will return, or bring thee home. "But who hath eyes to trace the paffing wind? "How then thy fairy footfteps can I find? Doft thou, bewilder'd, wander all alone, In the green thicket of a moffy ftone; "Or, tumbled from the toadstool's flippery round, Perhaps, all maim'd, lie groveling on the ground?

and fome drofs; [crofs. Without cause be he pleas'd, without caufe be he Be fure, as I work, to throw in contradictions, A great love of truth, yeta mind turn'd to fictions; Now mix thefe ingredients, which, warm'd in the baking,

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Turn to learning, and gaming, religion, and raking." With the love of a wench, let his writings be chafte;

Tip his tongue with ftrange matter, his pen with fine tafte;

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"Doft thou, imbofom'd in the lovely rose,
"Or funk within the peach's down, repofe?
"Within the king-cup if thy limbs are spread,

That the rake and the poet o'er all may prevail,
Set fire to the head, and fet fire to the tail:
For the joy of each fex, on the world I'll beftow it," Or in the golden cowflip's velvet head,
This Scholar, Rake, Chriftian, Dupe, Gamefter,

and Poet:

Tho' a mixture fo odd, he fhall merit great fame, And among brother mortals-be GOLDSMITH his name!

"Ofhew me, Flora, 'midft thofe fwects the flow'r "Where fleeps my Grildrig in this fragrant

"bow'r !

"But, ah! I fear thy little fancy roves "On little females, and on little loves; "Thy pigmy children, and thy tiny spouse, [here!" The baby-playthings that adorn thy houfe, "Doors, windows, chimneys, and the fpacious

When on earth this ftrange meteor no more fhall


You, Hermes, fhall fetch him to make us fport

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SOON as Glumdalclitch mifs'd her pleafing


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She wept, the blubber'd, and the tore her hair.
No British mifs fincerer grief has known,
Her fquirrel milling, or her fparrow flown.
She furi'd her fampler, and haul d-in Ler thread,
And fuck her needle into Grildrig's bed;
Then fpread her hands, and with a bounce let fall" How waft thou wont to walk with cautious tread
Her baby, like the giant in Guildhall.
"A dish of tea, like milk-pail, on thy head!

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Her wings imagination tries,
And bears me to the peaceful fhades
Where's humble turrets rife.
Hete ftop, my foul, thy rapid fight,

"How chafe the mite that bore thy cheefe away, | Yet tho' my limbs disease invades,
"And keep the rolling maggot at a bay !"
She faid; but broken accents stopp'd her voice,
Soft as the fpeaking trumpet's mellow noife.
She fobb'd a fto:m, and wip'd her flowing eyes,
Which feem'd like two broad furs in mifty ikies!
O fquander not thy grief; thole tears command
To weep upon our cod in Newfoundland :
The plenteous pickle thall preferve the fish,
And Europe tafte thy forrows in a dish.

A Receipt for flewing Veal.
TAKE a knuckle of veal;
You may buy it or steal:

In a few pieces cut it,
In a ftewing-pan put it.
Salt, pepper, and mace

Muft feafon this knuckle;
Then what's join'd to a place,

With other herbs muckle;
That which kill'd king + Will;
And what never ftands ftill.
Some & fprigs of that bed
Where children are bred;
Which much you will mend, if
Both fpinnach and endive,
And lettuce, and beet,
With marygold meet.
Put no water at all

For it maketh things finall,
Which left it should happen,
A clofe cover clap on.

Put this pot of Wood's mettle
In a hot boiling kettle,
And there let it be

(Mark the doctrine I teach) About-let me fee

Thrice as long as you preach ¶.
So fkimining the fat off,
Say grace with your hat off.
O, then with what rapture
Will it fill dean and chapter!


An Ode.



STERN Winter now, by Spring reprefs'd,
Forbears the long continued ftrife;
And nature, on her naked breaft,
Delights to catch the gales of life.
Now o'er the rural kingdom roves

Soft Pleasure, with her laughing train;
Love warbles in the vocal groves,
And vegetation plants the plain.
Unhappy whom to beds of pain
Arthritic tyranny configns!
Whom fmiling nature courts in vain,
Tho' rapture fings, and beauty fhines!

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* Vulgo, falary. + Suppofed forrel.
Parley. Vide Chamberlayne.
Which we fuppofe to be near four hours.

Nor from the pleafing groves de part,
Where fiift great nature charin'd my fight,
Where wildom firit inform'd my heart.
Here let me thro' the vales purfue

A guide-a father—and a friend;
Once more great nature's works review,
Once more on wifdom's voice attend.
From falfe careffes, caufelefs ftrife,

Wild hope, vain fear, alike remov'd;
Here let me learn the ufe of life,

When beft enjoy'd, when moft improv'd.
Teach me, thou venerable bow'r,
Cool meditation's quiet feat,

The generous fcorn of venal pow`r,
The filent grandeur of retreat.
When pride by guilt to greatnefs climbs,
Or raging factions ruth to war,

Here let me learn to fhun the crimes
I can't prevent, and will not share.
But left I fall by fubtler foes,

Bright wifdom, teach me Curio's art,
The fwelling paffions to compofe,
And quell the rebels of the heart.

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Phoebus down the western sky
Far hence diffufe thy burning ray;
Thy light to diftant worlds fupply,

And wake them to the cares of day.
Come, gentle eve, the friend of cafe'
Come, Cynthia, lovely queen of night!
Refresh me with a cooling breeze,

And cheer me with a lambent light.
Lay me where o'er the verdant ground
Her living carpet nature fpreads;
Where the green bow'r, with roses crown'd,
In fhow'rs its fragrant foliage sheds.
Improve the peaceful hour with wine,
Let mufic die along the grove;
Around the bowl let myrtles twine,

And every ftrain be tun'd to love.
Come, Stella, queen of all my heart!
Come, born to fill its vaft defires !
Thy looks perpetual joys impart,

Thy voice perpetual love infpires.
Whilft, all my wifh and thine complete,
By turns we languith and we burn,
Let fighing gales our fighs repeat,

Our murmurs-murmuring brooks return.

Let me, when nature calls to reft,

And blushing fkies the morn foretel,

This is by Dr. Bentley thought to be time, or thyme. Of this compofition, fee the Works of the Copper-farthing Dean. **The author being ill of the gout.

Sink on the down of Stella's breaft, And bid the waking world farewel.

AUTUM N. An Ode.

ALAS! with fwift and filent pace

Impatient time rolls on the year;
The feafons change, and nature's face
Now fweetly fmiles, now frowns fevere.
'Twas Spring, 'twas Summer, all was gay,
Now Autumn bends a cloudy brow;
The flow'rs of Spring are fwept away,
And fummer fruits defert the bough.
The verdant leaves that play'd on high,
And wanton'd on the western breeze,
Now trod in duft neglected lie,

As Boreas ftrips the bending trees.
The fields that wav'd with golden grain,
As ruffet heaths are wild and bare,
Not moift with dew, but drench'd in rain;
Nor health nor pleasure wanders there.
No more, while thro' the midnight fhade
Beneath the moon's pale orb I stray,
Soft pleafing woes my heart invade,

As Progne pours the melting lay.
From this capricious clime the foars,

O would fome god but wings fupply!
To where each morn the Spring restores,
Companion of her flight, I'd fly.
Vain with me fate compels to bear
The downward feafons iron reign,
Compels to breathe polluted air,
And fhiver on a blasted plain.

What blifs to life can Autumn yield,

If glooms, and fhow'rs, and ftorms prevail; And Ceres flies the naked field,

And flow'rs, and fruits, and Phœbus fail ? O! what remains, what lingers yet,

To cheer me in the darkening hour?
The grape remains, the friend of wit,
In love and mirth of mighty pow'r.
Hafte, prefs the clusters, fill the bowl;
Apollo fhoot thy parting ray:
This gives the funfhine of the foul,
This god of health, and verfe, and day.
Still, ftill the jocund ftrain shall flow,

The pulfe with vigorous rapture beat;
My Stella with new charms thall glow,
And every blifs in wine fhall meet.

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By gloomy twilight half reveal'd,
With fighs we view the hoary hill,
The leaflels wood, the naked field,

The fnow-topt cot, the frozen rill.
No mufic warbles thro' the grove,
No vivid colours paint the plain;
No more with devious fteps I rove
Thro' verdant paths now fought in vain.
Aloud the driving tempeft roars,

Congeal'd, impetuous fhow'rs defcend;
Hate, clofe the window, bar the doors,
Fate leaves me Stella, and a friend.
In nature's aid let art fupply

With light and heat my little sphere;
Roufe, route the fire, and pile it high;
Light up a conftellation here.
Let mufic found the voice of joy,

Or mirth repeat the jocund tale;
Let love his wanton wiles employ,

And o'er the feafon wine prevail. Yet time life's dreary winter brings,

When mirth's gay tale fhall please no more; Nor mufic charm, tho' Stella fings;

Nor love, nor wine, the Spring restore.
Catch then, O catch, the tranfient hour;
Improve each moment as it flies.
Life's a fhort Summer-man a flow'r;
He dies-alas! how foon he dies!

An EVENING ODE. To Stella.

EVENING now from purple wings
Sheds the grateful gifts the brings;
Brilliant drops bedeck the mead,
Cooling breezes shake the reed;
Shake the reed, and curl the stream
Silver'd o'er with Cynthia's beam;
Near the chequer'd lonely grove
Hears and keeps thy fecrets, love."
Stella, thither let us ftray,
Lightly o'er the dewy way.
Phoebus drives his burning car
Hence, my lovely Stella, far;
In his ftead, the queen of night
Round us pours a lambent light;
Light that feems but juft to fhew
Breafts that beat, and cheeks that glow.
Let us now, in whisper'd joy,
Evening's filent hours employ;
Silence beft, and confcious fhades,
Please the hearts that love invades :
Other pleasures give them pain,
Lovers all but love diidain.

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