Perhaps you may ask if the man was a mifer?
I answer, no, no, for he always was wifer
Too courteous, perhaps, or obligingly flat?
His very wort foe can't accufe him of that:
Perhaps he confided in men as they go,
And fo was too foolishly honeft? ah no!
Then what was his failing? come tell it, and burn
He was, could he help it, a fpecial attorney.

ye,

130

136

Here* Reynolds is laid, and to tell you my mind, He has not left a wifer or better behind His pencil was ftriking, refiftless and grand,

His manners were gentle, complying and bland; 140
Still born to improve us in every part,

His pencil our faces, his manners our heart:
To coxcombs averfe, yet moft civilly fteering,

When they judg'd without fkill, he was fill hard of hearing:

145

When they talk'd of their Raphaels, Corregios and ftuff, He shifted his § trumpet, and only took fouff

* Vide page 70.

§ Sir Joshua Reynolds is fo remarkably deaf as to be under the neceffity of using an ear-trumpet in company.

POST SCRIP T.

AFTER FTER the fourth edition of this poem was printed, the publisher received the following epitaph on Mr. Whitefoord, * from a friend of the late Dr. Goldfmith.

HERE Whitefoord reclines, and deny it who can,
Tho' he merrily liv'd, he is now a † grave man :
Rare compound of oddity, frolic and fun!
Who relifh'd a joke, and rejoic'd in a pun;
Whofe temper was generous, open, fincere ;
A ftranger to flatt'ry, a ftranger to fear;
Who fcatter'd around wit and humour at will ;
Whofe daily bons mots half a column might fill:
A Scotchman, from pride and from prejudice free;
A fcholar, yet furely no pedant was he.

What pity, alas! that fo lib'ral a mind
Should fo long be to news-paper effays confin'd!
Who perhaps to the fummit of fcience could foar,
Yet content" if the table he fet on a roar ;"
Whofe talents to fill any ftation were fit,
Yet happy if Woodfall ‡ confefs'd him a wit.
Ye news-paper witlings! ye pert fcribbling folks!
Who copied his fquibs, and re-echoed his jokes ;
Ye tame imitators, ye fervile herd, come,

* Mr. Caleb Whitefoord, author of many humorous essays.

Mr. W. was fo notorious a punfter, that Doctor Goldfmith used to fay it was impoffible to keep him company, without being infected with the itch of punning.

Mr. H. S. Woodfall, printer of the Public Advertiser.

Still follow your mafter, and vifit his tomb:
To deck it, bring with you feftoons of the vine,
And copious libations bestow on his shrine ;
Then ftrew all around it (you can do no less)
*Crofs-readings, fhip-news, and mistakes of the prefs.
Merry Whitefoord, farewel! for thy fake I admit
That a Scot may have humour, I had almost faid wit:
This debt to thy mem'ry I cannot refuse,

"Thou beft humour'd man with the worft humour'd "mufe."

* Mr. Whitefoord has frequently indulged the town with humorous pieces under thofe titles in the Public Advertiser.

PLAY S,

BY

DR. GOLDSMITH.