JUPITER AND MERCURY, A FABLE. Here Hermes, says Jove, who with nectar was mellow, Without cause be he pleased, without cause be he cross; This scholar, rake, Christian, dupe, gamester, and poet; ON DR. GOLDSMITH'S CHARACTERISTICAL COOKERY. A JEU D'ESPRIT. Are these the choice dishes the doctor has sent us? Is this the great poet whose works so content us? This Goldsmith's fine feast, who has written fine books? Heaven sends us good meat, but the Devil sends cooks. Too courteous, perhaps, or obligingly flat? He has not left a wiser or better behind; When they talk'd of their Raphaels, Corregios, and stuff, He shifted his trumpet,* and only took snuff. POSTSCRIPT. After the fourth edition of this poem was printed, the pub lisher received the following Epitaph on Mr. Whitefoord,t from a friend of the late Doctor Goldsmith. HERE Whitefoord reclines, and deny it who can, Though he merrily lived, he is now a grave man :‡ Rare compound of oddity, frolic, and fun! Who relish'd a joke, and rejoiced in a pun; Whose temper was generous, open, sincere; A stranger to flatt'ry, a stranger to fear; Who scatter'd around wit and humour at will; Whose daily bons mots half a column might fill: A Scotchman, from pride and from prejudice free; A scholar, yet surely no pedant was he. What pity, alas! that so liberal a mind Should so long be to newspaper essays confined! Who perhaps to the summit of science could soar, Yet content "if the table he set in a roar;" Whose talents to fill any station were fit, Yet happy if Woodfalls confess'd him a wit. Ye newspaper witlings! ye pert scribbling folks! Who copied his squibs, and re-echoed his jokes; Ye tame imitators, ye servile herd, come, Still follow your master, and visit his tomb. To deck it, bring with you festoons of the vine, And copious libations bestow on his shrine; Then strew all around it (you can do no loss) Cross-readings, ship-news, and mistakes of the press.Il * Sir Joshua Reynolds was so remarkably deaf, as to be under the necessity of using an ear-trumpet in company. † Mr. Caleb Whitefoord, author of many humorous essays. Mr. W. was so notorious a punster, that Dr. Goldsmith used to say it was impossible to keep him company, without being infected with the itch of punning. § Mr. H. S. Woodfall, printer of the Public Advertiser. I Mr. Whitefoord has frequently indulged the town with hu morous pieces under those titles in the Public Advertiser. Merry Whitefoord, farewell! for thy sake I ad- There mangroves spread, and larger than I've seen And apples, bitter apples strew the ground: INTENDED TO HAVE BEEN SUNG IN THE COMEDY OF O, there the people are best keep my distance: SHE STOOPS TO CONQUER.* АH me! when shall I marry me? Offers to love, but means to deceive me. Not a look, nor a smile shall my passion discover. She that gives all to the false one pursuing her, Makes but a penitent, and loses a lover. PROLOGUE TO ZOBEIDE; A TRAGEDY: WRITTEN BY JOSEPH CRADDOCK, ESQ. ACTED AT THE Our captain, gentle natives! craves assistance; His honour is no mercenary trader. This is his first adventure, lend him aid, And we may chance to drive a thriving trade. His goods, he hopes, are prime, and brought from far, Equally fit for gallantry and war. What, no reply to promises so ample? EPILOGUE, SPOKEN BY MR. LEE LEWES, IN THE CHARACTER OF sense: I'd speak a word or two, to ease my conscience. In these bold times, when Learning's sons explore HOLD! Prompter, hold! a word before your non- Where are we driven? our reckoning sure is lost! [Takes off his mask. Whence, and what art thou, visionary birth? Yon ill foreboding cloud seems big with thunder:Whose only plot it is to break our noses; [Upper Gallery. SIR-I send you a small production of the late Dr. Gold smith, which has never been published, and which might perhaps have been totally lost, had I not secured it. He intended it as a song in the character of Miss Hardcastle, in his admi"able comedy of "She Stoops to Conquer," but it was left out, as Mrs. Bulkley, who played the part, did not sing. He sung it himself in private companies very agreeably. The tune is a pretty Irish air, called "The Humours of Balamagairy," to which, he told me, he found it very difficult to adapt words; but he has succeeded very happily in these few lines. As I could sing the tune, and was fond of them, he was so good as to give me them, about a year ago, just as I was leaving London, I am, Sir, your humble servant, Whilst from below the trap-door demons rise, Ay, 'twas but a dream, for now there's no retreat. If I cease Harlequin, I cease from eating. Once on the margin of a fountain stood, They never have my gratitude nor thanks; Hoicks! hark forward! came thund'ring from behind, He bounds aloft, outstrips the fleeting wind: [Taking a jump through the stage door. THE LOGICIANS REFUTED, IN IMITATION OF DEAN SWIFT. LOGICIANS have but ill defined Have strove to prove with great precision, But for my soul I can not credit 'em; Who ever knew an honest brute They eat their meals, and take their sport, They never to the levee go, To treat as dearest friend, a foe; No judges, fiddlers, dancing-masters, THE GOOD-NATURED MANS A Comedy; AS PERFORMED AT THE THEATRE-ROYAL, COVENT GARDEN PREFACE, The WHEN I undertook to write a comedy, I confess I was strongly prepossessed in favour of the poets of the last age, and strove to imitate them. term, genteel comedy, was then unknown amongst us, and little more was desired by an audience, than nature and humour, in whatever walks of life they were most conspicuous. The author of the following scenes never imagined that more would be expected of him, and therefore to delineate character has been his principal aim. Those who know any thing of composition, are sensible that, in pursuing humour, it will sometimes lead us into the recesses of the mean; I was even tempted to look for it in the master of a spunging-house; but in deference to the public taste, grown of late, perhaps, too delicate, the scene of the bailiffs was retrenched in the representation. In deference also to the judgment of a few friends, who think in a particular way, the scene is here restored. The author submits it to the reader in his closet; and hopes that too much refinement will not banish humour and character from ours, as it has already done from the French theatre. Indeed, the French comedy is now become so very elevated and sentimental, that it has not only banished humour and Moliere from the stage, but it has banished all spectators too. Upon the whole, the author returns his thanks to the public for the favourable reception which The Good-Natured Man" has met with; and to Mr. Colman in particular, for his kindness to it. It may not also be improper to assure any, who shall hereafter write for the theatre, that merit, or supposed merit, will ever be a sufficient passport to his protection. PROLOGUE WRITTEN BY DR. JOHNSON, AND SPOKEN BY MR. BENSLEY. PREST by the load of life, the weary mind Surveys the general toil of human kind; With cool submission joins the lab'ring train, And social sorrow loses half its pain; Our anxious bard without complaint, may share This bustling season's epidemic care, Like Cæsar's pilot, dignified by fate, Tost in one common storm with all the great; Distrest alike, the statesman and the wit, When one a borough courts, and one the pit. The busy candidates for power and fame Have hopes and fears, and wishes, just the same; Disabled both to combat or to fly, Must bear all taunts, and hear without reply. Uncheck'd, on both loud rabbles vent their rage, As mongrels bay the lion in a cage. Th' offended burgess holds his angry tale, For that blest year when all that vote may rail; Their schemes of spite the poet's foes dismiss, Till that glad night, when all that hate may hiss. "This day the powder'd curls and golden coat," Says swelling Crispin, "begg'd a cobbler's vote." "This night our wit," the pert apprentice cries, "Lies at my feet-I hiss him, and he dies.” The great, 'tis true, can charm th' electing tribe; The bard may supplicate, but can not bribe. Yet judged by those, whose voices ne'er were sold, He feels no want of ill-persuading gold; But confident of praise, if praise be due, Trusts, without fear, to merit, and to you. DRAMATIS PERSONE. MR. HONEYWOOD CROAKER LOFTY MEN. MR. POWELL. MR. SHUTER. MR. CLARKE. MR. BENSLEY. has only served to spoil him. This same philosophy is a good horse in the stable, but an arrant jade on a journey. For my own part, whenever I hear him mention the name on't, I'm always sure he's going to play the fool. Sir William. Don't let us ascribe his faults to MR. WOODWARD. his philosophy, I entreat you. No, Jarvis, his good-nature arises rather from his fears of offending the importunate, than his desire of making the deserving happy. MR. DUNSTALL. MR. CUSHING. MR. R. SMITH. MR. HOLTAM. MR. QUICK. MRS. BULKLey. MRS. GREEN. MRS. WHITE. Scene-London. Jarvis. What it arises from, I don't know. But to be sure, every body has it, that asks it. Sir William. Ay, or that does not ask it. I have been now for some time a concealed spectator of his follies, and find them as boundless as his dissipation. Jarvis. And yet, faith, he has some fine name or other for them all. He calls his extravagance, generosity; and his trusting every body, universal benevolence. It was but last week he went security for a fellow whose face he scarce knew, and that he called an act of exalted mu-mu-munificence; ay, that was the name he gave it. Sir William. And upon that I proceed, as my THE GOOD-NATURED MAN. last effort, though with very little hopes to reclaim ACT I. him. That very fellow has just absconded, and I have taken up the security. Now, my intention is to involve him in fictitious distress, before he has SCENE AN APARTMENT IN YOUNG HONEYWOOD's plunged himself into real calamity: to arrest him for HOUSE. Enter SIR WILLIAM HONEYWOOD, JARVIS. Sir William. Good Jarvis, make no apologies| for this honest bluntness. Fidelity, like yours, is the best excuse for every freedom. that very debt, to clap an officer upon him, and then let him see which of his friends will come to his relief. Jarvis. Well, if I could but any way see him thoroughly vexed, every groan of his would be music to me; yet faith, I believe it impossible. I have tried to fret him myself every morning these three years; but instead of being angry, he sits as calmly to hear me scold, as he does to his hair-dresser. Sir William. We must try him once more, Jarvis. I can't help being blunt, and being very angry too, when I hear you talk of disinheriting so good, so worthy a young gentleman as your neDhew, my master. All the world loves him. Sir William. Say rather, that he loves all the however, and I'll go this instant to put my scheme world; that is his fault. Jarvis. I am sure there is no part of it more dear to him than you are, though he has not seen you since he was a child. Sir William. What signifies his affection to me; or how can I be proud of a place in a heart, where every sharper and coxcomb finds an easy entrance? into execution: and I don't despair of succeeding, as, by your means, I can have frequent opportunities of being about him without being known. What a pity it is, Jarvis, that any man's good-will to others should produce so much neglect of himself, as to require correction! Yet we must touch his weaknesses with a delicate hand. There are some faults so nearly allied to excellence, that we Jarvis. I grant you that he is rather too good-can scarce weed out the vice without eradicating natured; that he's too much every man's inan; that the virtue. [Exit. he laughs this minute with one, and cries the next Jarvis. Well, go thy ways, Sir William Howith another; but whose instructions may he thank neywood. It is not without reason, that the world for all this? allows thee to be the best of men. But here comes Sir William. Not mine, sure? My letters to his hopeful nephew; the strange, good-natured, him during my employment in Italy, taught him foolish, open-hearted—And yet, all his faults are only that philosophy which might prevent, not de- such that one loves him still the better for them. fend his errors. Enter HONEYWOOD. Jarvis. Faith, begging your honour's pardon, Honeywood. Well, Jarvis, what messages from I'm sorry they taught him any philosophy at all; it my friends this morning? |