Still aiming at honour, yet fearing to roam,

The coachman was tipsy, the chariot drove home:
Would you ask for his merits? alas! he had none;

What was good was spontaneous, his faults were his own. 50
Here lies honest Richard, whose fate I must sigh at;
Alas that such frolic should now be so 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 teasing and vexing, yet laughing at all!

55

In short so provoking a devil was Dick,

That we wish'd him full ten times a day at Old Nick;
But, missing his mirth and agreeable vein,

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

бо

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 faultless, his women divine,

65

And comedy wonders at 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 so 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?
Say, was it that vainly directing his view

To find out men's virtues, and finding them few,
Quite sick of pursuing each troublesome elf,
He grew lazy at last, and drew from himself?

Here Douglas retires from his toils to relax,

The scourge of impostors, the terror of quacks:

80

Come, all ye quack bards, and ye quacking divines,

Come, and dance on the spot where your tyrant reclines: When satire and censure 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,

85

Our Dodds shall be pious, our Kenricks shall lecture;
Macpherson write bombast, and call it a style;
Our Townshend make speeches, and I shall compile;

New Lauders and Bowers the Tweed shall cross over
No countryman living their tricks to discover;
Detection her taper shall quench to a spark,

90

And Scotchman meet Scotchman, and cheat in the dark.

Here lies David Garrick, describe me who can,

An abridgment of all that was pleasant in man;
As an actor, confest without rival to shine;
As a wit, if not first, in the very first line:

95

100

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 beplaster'd with rouge his own natural red.
On the stage he was natural, simple, affecting;
'T was 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:
Though secure of our hearts, yet confoundedly sick
If they 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;

105

ΙΙΟ

Till his relish grown callous, almost to disease,
Who pepper'd the highest was surest to please.
But let us be candid, and speak out our mind,
If dunces applauded, he paid them in kind.
Ye Kenricks, ye Kellys, and Woodfalls so grave,
What a commerce was yours, while you got and you gave!
How did Grub-street re-echo the shouts that you rais'd,
While he was be-Roscius'd and you were beprais'd!

But peace to his spirit, wherever it flies,

To act as an angel, and mix with the skies.
Those poets who owe their best fame to his skill,
Shall still be his flatterers, go where he will;

Old Shakespeare receive him with praise and with love,
And Beaumonts and Bens be his Kellys above.

115

120

Here Hickey reclines, a most blunt, pleasant creature, 125 And slander itself must allow him good nature;

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 ask if the man was a miser:
I answer, No, no, for he always was wiser.
Too courteous, perhaps, or obligingly flat?
His very worst foe can't accuse him of that.
Perhaps he confided in men as they go,
And so was too foolishly honest? Ah, no!

130

Then what was his failing? come, tell it, and burn ye: 135 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,

140

His pencil our faces, his manners our heart.

To coxcombs averse, yet most civilly steering,

When they judg'd without skill, he was still hard of hearing: When they talk'd of their Raphaels, Correggios, and stuff, He shifted his trumpet, and only took snuff.

By flattery unspoil'd

146

POSTSCRIPT

HERE Whitefoord reclines, and deny it who can,
Though he merrily liv'd, he is now a grave man:
Rare compound of oddity, frolic, and fun!
Who relish'd a joke, and rejoic'd in a pun;
Whose temper was generous, open, sincere;
A stranger to flattery, a stranger to fear;

150

Who scatter'd around wit and humour at will;
Whose daily bon mots half a column might fill:

155

A Scotchman, from pride and from prejudice free,
A scholar, yet surely no pedant was he.

NOTES ON GRAY'S POEMS

ELEGY WRITTEN IN A COUNTRY CHURCH-YARD(PAGE 3)

The Elegy was probably begun in 1742 and was finished at Stoke Pogis in June, 1750. Gray's mother and aunt lived here, and he was accustomed to come over from Cambridge frequently to spend a few days with them. His favorite walks are still pointed out. All three are buried in the church-yard, and there is a large monument to Gray in Stoke Park near by.

The poem may have been inspired by the death of Gray's dearest friend, Richard West. See Gosse, Life of Gray. The poet was in no haste to publish it and did so only to prevent an unauthorized edition. The piece almost immediately became very popular. It was translated into several languages and freely parodied. The author at first withheld his name and was always somewhat annoyed by the notoriety the poem brought him. He would accept no royalty for it. It should be read aloud and re-read until the remarkable beauty of expression, which has made it a universal favorite, is fully appreciated. It would be well to compare Bryant's Thanatopsis and Milton's L'Allegro and Il Penseroso.

1-12. What is the purpose of these introductory stanzas?

1. The curfew tolls. Thomas Carte, an historian contemporary with Gray, says that William the Conqueror instituted an ordinance, that all the common people should put out their fire and candle and go to bed at seven o'clock, upon the ringing of a bell, called the couvre feu bell, on pain of death.

Parting. Cf. Deserted Village, 171; also Longfellow's Dante, Purgatory, Canto VIII, 5, 6.

2. Wind. Why not winds?

4. And leaves the world. Cf. Ode to Evening by Collins and by Joseph Warton.

6. Holds. What is the subject?

7. Cf. Lycidas, 28, and Macbeth, Act III, sc. ii.