IQO

R Ε Τ Α Σ Ι Α Τ Ι Ο Ν.

Here lies honeft" William, 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, His conduct fill right, with his argument wrong; Still aiming at honour, yet fearing to roam, The coachman was tipsey, the chariot drove home; Would

you

ask for his merits? alas ! he had none ; What was good was spontaneous, his faults were his

Own.

Here lies honeft Richard, whose fate I must figh at; Alas, that such frolic should now be fo quiet ! What spirits were his ! what wit and what whim! + Now breaking a jest, 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 wilh'd him full ten times a day at old nick; But, mising his mirth and agreeable vein, As often we wish'd to have Dick back again..

* Vide page 97. + Mr. Richard Burke; vide page 97. This gentleman having slightly fractured one of his arins and legs, at different times, the doctor has rallied him on those accidents, às a kind of retributive justice for breaking his jefts upon other people.

Here

Here Cumberland lies, having acted his parts,
The Terence of England, the mendêr of hearts ;
A flattering painter, who made it his care
To draw men as they ought to be, not as they arë.
His gallants are all faultless, his women divine,
And comedy wonders át being so fine;
Like a tragedy queen he has dizen'd her out
Or rather like tragedy giving a rout.
His fools have their follies fo lost in a crowd
Of virtues and feelings, 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?.
Säý, was it that vainly directing his view
To find out mens virtues, and finding them few,
Quite fick of púrfuing each troublesome elf,
He grew lazy at last, and drei from himself

Here + Douglas retires from his toils to relax,
The fcourge of impostors, the terror of quacks :
Come, all ye quack bards, and ye quacking divines,
Come, and dance on the spot where your tyrant re-

clines:
When satire and cenfure encircled his throne,
I fear'd for your safety, I fear'd for my own;

But now he is gone, and we want a detector,
Our • Dodds shall be pious, our + Kenricks Thall

lecture;
Macpherson write bombast, and call it a style,
Our $ Townshend make speeches, and I shall compile;
New || Lawders and Bowers the Tweed shall cross over,
No countryman living their tricks to discover ;
Detection her taper shall quench to a spark,
And Scotchman meet Scotchman and cheatin the dark.

Here lies q David Garrick, describe me who can, An abridgement of all that was pleasant in man; As an actor, confeft without rival to shine: As a wit, if not first, in the very first line ; Yet, with talents like these, and an excellent heart, The man had his failings, a dupe to his art, Like an ill-judging beauty, his colours he spread, And beplafter’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:

* The Rev. Dr. Dodd. + Dr. Kenrick, who read lectures at the Devil tavern, under the title of “ The School of Shakespeare.”

I James Macpherson, esq; who lately, from the mere force of his style, wrote down the first poet of all antiquity. $ Vide page 99. # Vide page 98•

I Vide page 98.

Though

Though secure of our hearts, yet confoundedly fick,
If there were not his own by finessing and trick:
He cast off his friends, as a huntsman his pack,
For he knew when he pleas'd 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 sureft to please.
But let us be candid, and speak out our mind,
If dunces applauded, he paid them in kind.
Ye. Kenricks, yet Kellys, and I Woodfalls fo grave,
What a commerce was yours,

while

you got and
gave?
How did Grub-street re-echo the shouts that you rais’d,
While he was bc-Rofcius'd, and you were beprais'd ?
But peace to his spirit, wherever it Aies,
To act as an angel and mix with the skies :
Those poets, who owe their best fame to his skill,
Shall fill be his flatterers, go where he will,
Old Shakespeare, receive him, with praise and with

love,
And Beaumonts and Bens be his + Kellys above

you

Vide page 102. + Mr. Hugh Kelly, author of False Delicacy, Word to the Wife, Clementina, School for Wives, &c. &c.

I Mr. William Woodfall, printer of the Morning Chronicle.

Here

H4

Here * Hickey reelines, a moft blunt, pleasant

creature, And Nander itself must allow him good gature ; He cherish'd his friend, and he relish'd a bumper ; Yet one fault he had, and that one was a thumper.. Perhaps you may ak if the man was a miser : I answer no, no, for he always was wiser: Too courteous, perhaps, or obligingly flat? Hiş very worst foe can't accuse him of that: Perhaps he confided in men as they go, And so was too foolishly honeft? 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 civily iteeping, When they judg'd without fkill he was still hard of

hearing : When they talk'd of theirRaphaels, Corregios and stuff, He shifted his ftrumpet, and only took snuff.