Our § Will shall be wild-fowl of excellent flavour,
And | Dick with his pepper fhall heighten their favour:
Our ¶ Cumberland's fweet-bread its place fhall obtain,
And * Douglas is pudding substantial and plain :
Our + Garrick's a fallad; for in him we fee
Oil, vinegar, fugar, and faltnefs agree:

To make out the dinner, full certain I am,

10

That Ridge is anchovy, and §§ Reynolds is lamb; That Hickey's a capon, and, by the fame rule, 15 Magnanimous Goldfinith, a goofberry fool.

At a dinner fo various, at fuch a repaft,

Who'd not be a glutton, and stick to the last ?
Here waiter, more wine, let me fit while I'm able,
Till all my companions fink under the table;
Then, with chaos and blunders encircling my head,
Let me ponder, and tell what I think of the dead.

20

Here lies the good ¶¶ dean, reunited to earth, Who mixt reafon with pleasure, and wisdom with mirth :

§ Mr. William Burke, late fecretary to general Conway, and member for Bedwin.

Mr. Richard Burke, collector of Grenada.

Mr. Richard Cumberland, author of the Weft-Indian, Fashi• onable Lover, the Brothers, and other dramatic pieces.

*Doctor Douglas, canon of Windfor, an ingenious Scotch gentleman, who has no less distinguished himself as a citizen of the world, than a found critic, in detecting feveral literary mif takes (or rather forgeries) of his countrymen; particularly Lauder on Milton, and Bower's Hiftory of the Popes.

† David Garrick, efq; joint patentee and acting manager of the Theatre Royal, Drury-lane.

bar.

Counsellor John Ridge, a gentleman belonging to the Irish

§§ Sir Joshua Reynolds, prefident of the Royal Academy. ¶¶ Vide page 69.

An eminent attorney.

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

At least, in fix weeks, I could not find 'em out;
Yet fome have declar'd, and it can't be denied 'em,
That fly-boots was curfedly cunning to hide 'em.

25

Here lies our good ¶ Edmund, whofe genius was such
We scarcely can praise it, or blame it too much; 30
Who, born for the univerfe, narrow'd his mind,
And to party gave up what was meant for mankind.
Tho' fraught with all learning, yet training his throat,
To perfuade* Tommy Townshend to lend him a vote;
Who, too deep for his hearers, ftill went on refining,
And thought of convincing, while they thought of dining;
Tho' 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, difobedient;
And too fond of the right to purfue the expedient. 40
In short, 'twas his fate, unemploy'd, or in place, fir,
To eat mutton cold, and cut blocks with a razor.

45

Here lies honeft † William, whofe 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 ftill right, with his argument wrong; Still aiming at honour, yet fearing to roam, The coachman was tipfy, the chariot drove home Would afk for his merits? alas! he had none; 49 What was good was fpontaneous, his faults were his own. Here lies honeft Richard, whofe fate I muft figh at; Alas, that fuch frolic fhould now be fo quiet!

you

E 5

¶ Vide page 69.

*Mr. T. Townshend, member for Whitechurch.

Vide page 70.

What fpirits were his! what wit and what whim!

Now breaking a jeft, and now breaking a limb! Now wrangling and grumbling to keep up the ball! 55 Now teazing and vexing, yet laughing at all! In fhort, fo provoking a devil was Dick,

That we wish'd him full ten times a day at old nick ; But, miffing his mirth and agreeable vein,

As often we wish'd to have Dick back again.

Here § Cumberland lies, having acted his parts, The Terence of England, the mender of hearts; A flattering painter, who made it his care

To draw men as they ought to be, not as they are. His gallants are all faultlefs, his women divine, And comedy wonders at being fo fine

;

Like a tragedy queen he has dizen'd her out,
Or rather like tragedy giving a rout.
His fools have their follies fo loft in a croud
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?
Say, was it that vainly directing his view
To find out mens virtues, and finding them few,
Quite fick of purfuing each troublesome elf,
He grew lazy at laft, and drew from himself?

60

65

70

Mr. Richard Burke, vide page 70. This gentleman having fightly fractured one of his arms and legs, at different times, the doctor has rallied him on those accidents, as a kind of retributive justice for breaking his jefts upon other people.

Vide page 70.

80

Here Douglas retires from his toils to relax, The fcourge of impoftors the terror of quacks. Come, all ye quack bards, and ́ye quacking divines, Come, and dance on the spot where your tyrant reclines: When fatire and cenfure encircled his throne,

85

I fear'd for your fafety, I fear'd for my own;
But now he is gone, and we want a detector,
Our ¶ Dodds fhall be pious, our *Kenricks fhall lecture;
+ Macpherson write bombaft, and call it a ftyle,
Our Townshend make fpeeches, and I fhall compile;
New § Lauders and Bowers the Tweed fhall crof, over,
No countryman living their tricks to difcover;
Detection her taper fhall quench to a spark,

90

And Scotchman meet Scotchman and cheat in the dark.
Here lies | David Garrick, defcribe me who can,
An abridgment of all that was pleasant in man;
As an actor confeft without rival to fine;

95

100

As a wit, if not firft, in the very first line:
Yet, with talents like thefe, 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 flage he was natural, fimple, affecting;
'Twas only that, when he was off, he was acting.
With no reafon on earth to go out of his way,
He turn'd and he varied full ten times a day:

Vide page 70.

The Rev. Mr. Dodd.

*Mr. Kenrick lately read lectures at the Devil tavern, under the title of The School of Shakespeare."

James Macpherfon, efq; who lately from the mere force of his flyle, wrote down the firft poet of all antiquity.

Vide page 71.

Vide page 70.

§ Vide rage 70.

Tho' fecure of our hearts, yet confoundedly fick, 105

If they were not his own by fineffing and trick:

He caft off his friends, as a huntfman 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 relifh grown callous, almoft to disease,
Who pepper'd the higheft, was fureft to please.
But let us be candid, and fpeak out our mind,
If dunces applauded, he paid them in kind.

114

Ye Kenricks, ye*Kellys, and † Woodfalls so grave, What a commerce was yours, while you got and you

gave?

How did Grub-ftreet re-echo the fhouts that you rais'd, While he was berofcius'd, and you were beprais'd? But peace to his fpirit, wherever it flies,

To act as an angel, and mix with the skies:

Thofe poets who owe their best fame to his skill,
Shall ftill be his flatterers, go where he will.

120

Old Shakespeare, receive him, with praife and with love,

And Beaumonts and Bens be his § Kellys above.

Here Hickey reclines, a moft blunt, pleafant

creature,

And flander itself muft 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.

¶ Vide page 73.

125

* Mr. Hugh Kelly, author of Falfe Delicacy, Word to the Wife, Clementina, School for Wives, &c. &c.

Mr. William Woodfall, printer of the Morning Chronicle. § Vide fupr. Vide page 70