"Our Burke" was Edmund Burke; "Garrick," David Garrick; "Reynolds," Sir Joshua Reynolds; and "Tommy Townshend," Mr. T. Townshend, member for Whitchurch. In the course of the poem, Goldsmith refers to the Rev. Dr. Dodd, hanged for forgery; Dr. Kenrick, who read lectures at the Devil Tavern, under the title of "The School of Shakespeare"; James Macpherson, who had lately published a translation of Homer; Hugh Kelly, a popular dramatist; and W. Woodfall, printer of the Morning Chronicle.

OF old, when Scarron his companions invited,

Each guest brought his dish, and the feast was united.

If our landlord supplies us with beef and with fish,

Let each guest bring himself, and he brings the best dish:

Our Dean shall be venison, just fresh from the plains,

Our Burke shall be tongue, with the garnish of brains,

Our Will shall be wild fowl, of excellent flavour,

And Dick with his pepper, shall heighten

the savour:

Our Cumberland's sweetbread its place shall obtain,

And Douglas is pudding substantial and plain:

Our Garrick's a salad; for in him we

see

Oil, vinegar, sugar, and saltness 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 same rule,

Magnanimous Goldsmith a gooseberry fool.

At a dinner so various, at such a repast, Who'd not be a glutton, and stick to the last?

Here, waiter, more wine, let me sit while

I'm able,

Till all my companions sink 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, reunited to

earth,

Who mix'd reason with pleasure, and wisdom with mirth:

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

At least, in six weeks I could not find them out;

Yet some have declared, and it can't be denied them,

That sly-boots was cursedly cunning to hide them.

Here lies our good Edmund, whose

genius was such,

We scarcely can praise it, or blame it too much;

Who, born for the universe, narrow'd his mind,

And to party gave up what was meant for mankind:

Tho' fraught with all learning, yet straining his throat

To persuade Tommy Townshend to lend him a vote;

Who, too deep for his hearers, still went on refining,

And thought of convincing, while they thought of dining;

Though equal to all things, for all things unfit;

Too nice for a statesman, too proud for a wit;

For a patriot too cool; for a drudge disobedient;

And too fond of the right to pursue the expedient.

In short, 'twas his fate, unemploy'd, or in place, sir,

To eat mutton cold, and cut blocks with

a razor.

Here lies honest William, whose heart

was a mint,

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

The pupil of impulse, it forced him along,

Yet, with talents like these, and an excellent heart,

This man had his failings-a dupe to his

art.

Like an ill judging beauty, his colours. he spread,

And be-plaster'd with rouge his own natural red.

On the stage he was natural, simple, affecting;

'Twas only that when he was off he was acting.

With no reason on earth to go out of his way,

He turn'd and he varied full ten times a day:

Though secure of our hearts, yet confoundedly sick

If they were not his own by finessing and trick:

He cast off his friends, as a huntsman his pack,

For he knew when he pleased he could whistle them back.

Of praise a mere glutton, he swallow'd what came,

And the puff of a dunce he mistook it for fame;

Till his relish grown callous, almost to disease,

Who pepper'd the highest was surest to please.

But let us be candid, and speak out our mind,

If dunces applauded, he paid them in kind.

Ye Kenricks, ye Kellys, and Woodfalls

so grave,

What a commerce was yours while you

got and you gave!

How did Grub-street re-echo the shouts that you raised,

While he was be-Roscius'd, and you were be-praised!

But peace to his spirit, wherever it flies, To act as an angel and mix with the skies:

Those 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 his Kellys above.

Here Hickey reclines, a most blunt pleasant creature,

And slander itself must allow him good

nature;

He cherish'd his friend, and he relish'd a bumper;

Yet one fault he had, and that was a thumper.

Perhaps you may ask if the man was a miser?

I answer, no, no, for he always was wiser:

Too courteous perhaps, or obligingly flat?

His very worst foe can't accuse him of that:

Perhaps he confided in men as they go,

And so was too foolishly honest? Ah no!

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

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

Here Reynolds is laid, and, to tell you

my mind,

He has not left a wiser or better behind: His pencil was striking, resistless, 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 averse, yet most civilly steering,

When they judged without skill he was
still hard of hearing;
When they talk'd of their Raphaels,
Correggios, and stuff,

He shifted his trumpet, and only took snuff.

By flattery unspoiled. . .

WILLIAM COWPER (1731-1800)

The Diverting History of
John Gilpin

Showing how he went farther than he intended, and camfe safe home again.

JOHN GILPIN was a citizen

Of credit and renown, A train-band captain eke was he Of famous London town.

John Gilpin's spouse said to her dear

Though wedded we have been
These twice ten tedious years, yet we
No holiday have seen.

To-morrow is our wedding-day,
And we will then repair

Unto the Bell at Edmonton
All in a chaise and pair.

My sister, and my sister's child,

Myself, and children three, Will fill the chaise; so you must ride On horseback after we.

He soon replied-I do admire

Of womankind but one, And you are she, my dearest dear, Therefore it shall be done.

I am a linen-draper bold,

As all the world doth know,
And my good friend the calender
Will lend his horse to go.

Quoth Mrs. Gilpin-That's well said;
And, for that wine is dear,
We will be furnish'd with our own,
Which is both bright and clear.

John Gilpin kiss'd his loving wife;

O'erjoy'd was he to find

That, though on pleasure she was bent, She had a frugal mind.

The morning came, the chaise was brought,

But yet was not allow'd