How did Grub-street re-echo the shouts that you rais'd, While he was be-Roscius'd, and you were beprais'd? But peace to his spirit, wherever it flies, To act as an angel, and mix with the skies: And Beaumonts and Bens be his Kellys above.* The following poems, by Mr. Garrick, may in some measure account for the severity exercised by Dr. Goldsmith, in respect to that gentleman. JUPITER AND MERCURY, A FABLE. HERE, Hermes, says Jove, who with Nectar was mellow, A great love of truth, yet a mind turn'd to fictions; On Dr. Goldsmith's Characteristical Cookery. A JEU D'ESPRIT. ARE these the choice dishes the doctor has sent us? Here Hickey reclines, a most blunt pleasant creature, And slander itself must allow him good nature; He was, could he help it? a special attorney. Here Reynolds is laid, and, to tell you my mind, His pencil our faces, his manners our heart': When they talk'd of their Raphaels, Corregios, and stuff, He shifted his *trumpet, and only took snuff. * Sir Joshua Reynolds was so remarkably deaf, as to be under the necessity of using an ear-trumpet in company. 0 2 POSTSCRIPT. AFTER the fourth edition of this poem was printed, the publisher received the following epitaph on Mr. Whitefoord*, from a friend of the late Doctor Goldsmith. HERE Whitefoord reclines, and deny it who can, Though he merrily liv'd, he is now a tgrave man ; What pity, alas! that so lib'ral a mind *Mr. Caleb Whitefoord, author of many humorous essays. Mr. W. was so notorious a punster, that Doctor Goldsmith used to say it was impossible to keep him company, without being infected with the itch of punning. Mr. H. S. Woodfall, printer of the Public Advertiser. Then strew all around it (you can do no less) *Cross-readings, ship-news, and mistakes of the press. Merry Whitefoord, farewell! for thy sake I admit That a Scot may have humour, I had almost said wit: This debt to thy mem'ry I cannot refuse, "Thou best humour'd man, with the worst humour'd Muse." SONG: INTENDED TO HAVE BEEN SUNG IN THE COMEDY OF rr SHE STOOPS TO CONQUER."+ AH me! when shall I marry me? Lovers are plenty, but fail to relieve me. But I will rally, and combat the ruiner: * Mr. Whitefoord has frequently indulged the town with humorous pieces under those titles in the Public Advertiser. + Sir, I send you a small production of the late Dr. Goldsmith, which has never been published, and which might perhaps have been totally lost, had I not secured it. He intended it as a song in the character of Miss Hardcastle, în his admirable comedy of She Stoops to conquer;" but it was left out, as Mrs. Bulkley, who played the part, did not sing. He sung 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 succeeded very happily in these few lines. As I could sing the tune, and was fond of them, he was so good as to give me them, about a year ago, just as I was leaving London, and bidding him adieu for that season, little apprehending that it was a last farewell. I preserve this little reliç, in his own hand writing, with an affectionate care. I am, Sir, Your humble servant, PROLOGUE TO ZOBEIDE: A TRAGEDY. WRITTEN BY JOSEPH CRADDOCK, ESQ. Acted at the Theatre Royal, Covent Garden, 1772. SPOKEN BY MR. QUICK. IN these bold times, when Learning's sons explore The distant climates, and the savage shore; And quit for Venus many a brighter here; To make an observation on the shore. Where are we driven? our reckoning sure is lost! [Upper gallery. There mangroves spread, and larger than I've seen 'em [Pit. Here trees of stately size-and billing turtles in 'em -- [Balconies. Here ill-condition'd oranges abound- [Stage. And apples, bitter apples, strew the ground: [Tasting them. |