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llere, porter—this ven’son with me to Mile-End; No words, my dear Goldsmith-my friend-my

dear friend! Thus, snatching his hat, he brush'd off like the wind, And the porter and eatables follow'd behind.

Left alone to reflect, having emptied my shelf, And ‘nobody with me at sea but myself;'* Though I could not help thinking my gentleman

hasty, Yet Johnson, and Burke, and a good ven’son pasty, Were things that I never dislik'd in my life, Though clog'd with a coxcomb, and Kitty his wife. So next day, in due splendour to make my approach, I drove to his door in my own hackney-coach.

When come to the place where we all were to dine, (A chair-lumber'd closet, just twelve feet by nine) My friend bade me welcome, but struck me quite dumb

[come ; With tidings that Johnson and Burke could not * And I knew it, (he cried) both eternally fail, The one at the House, and the other with Thrale. But no matter, I'll warrant we'll make up the party, With two full as clever, and ten times as hearty. The one is a Scothman, the other a Jew, Who dabble and write in the papers, like you ; The one writes the Snarler, the other the Scourge ; Some think he writes Cinna-he owns to Panurge.' While thus he describ'd them by trade and by name, They enter'd; and dinner was serv'd as they came,

At the top a fried liver and bacon were seen, At the bottom was tripe, in a swinging tureen;

* See the letters that passed between his Royal Highness Henry Duke of Camberland and Lady Grosvenor, in 1769.

At the sides there were spinage and pudding made

hot; In the middle, a place where the pasty-was not. Now, my lord, as for tripe, it's my utter aversion, And your bacon I hate like a Turk or a Persian ; So there I sat stuck like a horse in a pound, While the bacon and liver went merrily round; But what vex'd me most, was that 'd Scottish rogue,

[brogue, With his long-winded speeches, his smiles, and his And, 'Madam, (quoth he) may this bit be my poison If a prettier dinner I ever set eyes on; Pray a slice of your liver, though may I be curst, But I've eat of your tripe till I'm ready to burst.' 'The tripe, (quoth the Jew) if the truth I may

speak, I could eat of this tripe seven days in a week: I like these here dinners so pretty and small; But your friend there, the doctor, eats nothing at all.'

0-ho! (quoth my friend) he'll come on in a trice, He's keeping a corner for something that's nice : There's a pasty'—'A pasty! (repeated i he Jew) I don't care if I keep a corner for't too.' “What the de'il, mon, a pasty!' (re-echo'd the Scot) Though splitting, I'll still keep a corner for thot.' “We'll all keep a corner,' the lady cried out! “We'll all keep a corner,' was echoed about. While thus we resolv’d, and the pasty delay'd, With looks that quite petrified, enter'd the maid; A visage so sad, and so pale with affright, Wak'd Priam, in drawing his curtains by night. But we quickly found out (for who could mistake her?)

(haker; That she came with some terrible news from the

And so it fell out, for that negligent sloven
Had shut out the pasty, on shutting his oven.
Sad Philomel thus—but let similes drop-
And now, that I think on't, the story may stop.
To be plain, my good lord, it's but labour misplac'd,
To send such good verses to one of your taste :
You've got an odd something—a kind of discern-

ing-
A relish-a taste-sicken'd over by learning;
At least it's your temper, as very well known,
That you think very slightly of all that's your own:
So perhaps, in your habits of thinking amiss,
You may make a mistake and think slightly of this.

RETALIATION.

(FIRST PRINTED IN THE YEAR 1774.)

Dr. Goldsmith and some of his friends occasionally dined at the

St. James's Coffee-house. One day it was proposed to write epi. taphs 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 poem.]

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 dish :

* The master of St. James's coffee-house, where the Doctor, and the friends be has characterized in this poem, occasionally dined.

Our Dean* shall be ven’son, just fresh from the plains,

[brains, Our Burket shall be tongue, with a garnish of Our Will# shall be wild fowl, of excellent flavour, And Dicks with his pepper shall heighten the

savour, Our Cumberland's || sweetbread its place shall ob

tain, And Douglas, is pudding, substantial and plain: Our Garrick's** a sallad ; for in him we see Oil, vinegar, sugar, and saltness agree : To make out the dinner, full certain I am That Ridgett is anchovy, and Reynolds## is lamb; That Hickey's $ a capon, and by the same rule, Magnanimous Goldsmith, a gooseberry fool. 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;

a

* Dr. Bernard, Dean of Derry in Ireland.
+ Edmund Burke, Esq. the celebrated orator.
Mr. William Burke, secretary to General Conway.
g Mr. Richard Burke, collector of Grenada.

| Richard Cumberland, Esq. author of the West Indian, Fa. shionable Lover, The Brothers, and other dramatic pieces.

1 Dr. Douglas, Canon of Windsor, and Bishop of Salisbury, an ingenious Scotch gentleman, who no less distinguished himself as a citizen of the world, than a sound critic, in detecting several literary forgeries of his countrymen; particularly Lauder on Milton, and Bower's History of the Popes.

** David Garrick, Esq. the Roseius of England.

of Counsellor John Ridge, a gentleman belonging to the Irish bar.

# Sir Joshua Reynolds, President of the Royal Academy, 99 An eminent attorney.

Then, with chaos and blunders encircling my head, Let me ponder, and tell what I think of the dead.

Here lies the good Dean, re-united to earth, Who mix'd reason with pleasure, and wisdom with

mirth : If he had any faults, he has left us in doubt, At least, in six weeks I could not find them out; Yet some have declar'd, and it can't be denied 'em, That sly-boots was cursedly cunning to hire 'em. Here lies our good Edmund, whose genius was

such, 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 witb all learning, yet straining his throat

(vote; To persuade Tommy Townshend* to lend him a Who, too deep for his hearers, still went on refining, And thought 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 mution cold, and cut blocks with a razor.

Here lies honest William, whose heart wa, a mint, While the owner ne'er knew half the good that was The pupil of impulse, it forc'd him along, [ili't; His conduct still right, with his argument wrong; Still aiming at honour, yet fearing to roam, The coachman was tipsy, the chariot drove home,

* Mr. T, Townshend, Member for Whitchurch: afterwards created Viscount Sydney.

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