And ventur'd to affert its
The obfervation was not new,

But feem'd to me fo juft and true,
That none cou'd controvert it.

"No, Sir," fays Johnson, " 'tis not fo,
That's your miftake, and I can shew
An inftance, if you doubt it:
You, Sir, who are near forty-eight,
May much improve, 'tis not too late,
I wish you'd fet about it."

Encourag'd thus to mend my faults,
I turn'd his Counfel in my thoughts,

Which way I fhould apply it ;

Learning and Wit seem'd past my reach,
For who can learn when none will teach ?
And Wit-I cou'd not buy it.

Then come, my friends, and try your skill,
You can inform me if you will,

(My books are at a distance,)

With you I'll live and learn, and then
Inftead of books, I fhall read men,

So lend me your affistance.

Dear

Dear Knight of Plympton, teach me how
To fuffer with unruffled brow,

And fmile ferene like thine;
The jeft uncouth, or truth fevere,
To fuch I'll turn my deafeft ear,
And calmly drink my wine.

Thou fay't, not only fkill is gain'd,
But genius too may be attain'd,
By ftudious imitation;"

Thy temper mild, thy genius fine,
I'll copy 'till I make thee mine,
By conftant application.

Thy art of pleafing, teach me, Garrick,
Thou†, who reverest Odes Pindaric,
A fecond time read o'er;

Oh! could we read thee backwards too,
Last thirty years thou should'st review,
And charm us thirty more.

Sir Joshua Reynolds.

N 4

If

Garrick being afked to read Cumberland's Odes, laughed immoderately, and affirmed that fuch ftuff might as well be read backwards as forwards, and the witty Rofcius accordingly read them in that manner, and, wonderful to relate! produced the fame good fenfe and poetry the one way as the other.

4

If I have thoughts and can't exprefs 'em,
Gibbons fhall teach me how to drefs 'em,'
In terms felect and terfe :"

Jones teach me Modefty and Greek,
Smith how to think, Burke how to speak,
And Beauclerc to converfe.

Let Johnson teach me how to place,
In faireft light, each borrow'd grace,
From him I'll learn to write;
Copy his clear familiar ftyle,

And from the roughness of his file,
Grow like himfelf-polite."

1.

FROM DR. BERNARD, DEAN OF DERRY, TO

THE LATE DR. GOLDSMITH,

[Read at their literary club, after the wellknown EPITAPHS written by the members on GOLDSMITH.]

GOLDSMITH I yield: reftrain thy rage,
And fpare a hapless stranger,

Who ne'er had ventur'd to engage,
Had he bat known his danger.

Draw not thy angel's quill for shame,
On one who cries peccavi!
But rather feek for nobler game,

Go fet thy wit at DAVY!

On him let all thy vengeance fall,
On me you but misplace it;
Remember how he call'd thee POLL,
But ah! he dares not face it *..

That wily loon has too much art
To fhew his guilty head,

But Parthian like, he drew his dart,

Has wounded thee, and fled!

A POETICAL EPISTLE,

"

FROM MR. CUMBERLAND TO DR. GOLDSMITH.

OR SUPPLEMENT TO HIS "RETALIATION," A POEM.

DOCTOR! according to our wishes,
You've character'd us all in dishes,
Serv'd up a fentimental treat

Of various emblematic meat:

And now it's time, I truft, you'll think.
Your company fhould have fome drink;
Elfe, take my word for it, at least
Your Irish friends won't like your feaft.
Ring then, and fee that there is plac'd
To each according to his taste.

To Douglas, fraught with learned stock
Of critic Lore, give antient Hock;
Let it be genuine, bright, and fine,
Pure unadulterated wine;

For if there's fault in tafte, or odour,

He'll fearch.it, as he fearch'd out Lauder.

To Johnfon, philofophic fage,

The moral Mentor of the age,
Religion's friend, with foul fincere,
With melting heart, but look auftere,
Give liquor of an honest sort,

And crown his cup with priestly Port!

Now