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Dr. Goldsmith, and some of his friends, occasionally dined at the St. James's coffee-house.....One day it was proposed to write epitaphs on him. His country, dialect, and person, furnished subjects of witticism. He was called on for RETALIATION, and, at their next meeting, produced the following
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
Our deant shall be ven’son just fresh from the plains; Our Burket 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:
* The master of the St. James's coffee-house, where the Doctor, and the friends he has characterized in this Poem occasionally dined. + Doctor Bernard, dean of Derry in Ireland.
Right Hon. Edmund Burke.'
|| Mr. William Burke, late secretary to general Con. way and member for Bedwin.
** Mr. Richard Burke, collector of Grenada.
Our Cumberland's* sweetbread its place shall obtain,
And Douglast is pudding, substantial and plain:
Our Garrick'st a salad; for in him we see
Oil, vinegar, sugar, and saltness agree:
To make out the dinner, full certain I am,
That Ridgell is anchovy, and Reynolds** is lamb;
That Hickey'stt a capon, and by the same rule,
Magnanimous Goldsmith a goosberry fool.
Mr. Richard Cumberland, author of the West-Indian, Fashionable Lover, the Brothers, and other dramatic pieces.
of Dr. John Douglas, now bishop of Salisbury, a native of Scotland, 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 Miltor., and Bower's History of the Popes.
David Garrick, Esq. ll Counsellor John Ridge, a gentleman belonging to the Irish bar.
** Sir Joshua Reynolds.
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;
Let me ponder, and tell what I think of the dead.
Here lies the good dean,* re-united to earth,
Who mixt reason with pleasure, and wisdom with
If he had any faults, he has left us in doubt....
At least, in six weeks I could not find 'em out;
Yet some have declar'd, and it can't be deny'd 'em, That sly-boots was cursedly cunning to hide 'em.
Here lies our good Edmund,t whose genius was
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. Though fraught with all learning, yet straining his
* Vide page 73.
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,t whose heart was a mint,
While the owner ne'er knew half the good that was in't;
The pupil of impulse, it forc'd him along,
* Mr. T. Townshend, member for Whitchurch.