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Our Will 4 shall be wild fowl, of excellent flavour, And Dicks with his pepper shall heighten the savour: Our Cumberland's 6 sweet-bread its place shall

obtain, And Douglas 7 is pudding substantial and plain : Our Garrick's 8 a salad; for in him we see Oil, vinegar, sugar, and saltness agree: To make out the dinner full certain I am, That Ridge 9 is anchovy, and Reynolds 10 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;

4 Mr. William Burke, late secretary to General Conway, and member for Bedwin.

5 Mr. Richard Burke, collector of Grenada.

6 Richard Cumberland, anthor of the West Indian, Fashionable Lover, The Brothers, and other dramatic pieces.

7 Dr. Donglas, canon of Windsor (late bishop of Salisbury), an ingenious Scotch gentleman, who has no less distinguished himself as a citizen of the world than a sound critic, in detecting several literary mistakes (or rather forgeries) of bis coontrymen ; particularly Lauder on Milton, and Bower's History of the Popes.

8 David Garrick.

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

10 Sir Joshua Reynolds. II An eininent attorney.

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

Here lies the good dean, reunited to earth, Who mix'd reason with pleasure, and wisdom with

i 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 declared, and it can't be denied 'em, That sly-boots was cursedly cunning to hide '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 with all learning, yet straining his throat,

[vote; To persuade Tommy Townshend 12 to lend him a Who, too deep for his hearers, still went on refining, And thought of convincing, while they thought of

dining; Though equal to all things, for all things unfit, Too pice 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 mutton cold, and cut blocks with a razor.

Here lies honest William, whose heart was a mint, While the owner ne'er knew half the good that

was in't;
12 Mr. T. Townshend, member for Whitchurch.

The pupil of impulse, it forced him along,
His conduct still right, with his argument wrong;
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, Here lies honest Richard 13, 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! In short, so provoking a devil was Dick That we wish’dhim 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.

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, And comedy wonders at being so fine: Like a tragedy queen he has dizzen'd her out, Or rather like tragedy giving a rout.

13 Mr. Richard Burke. This gentleman having slightly fractured one of his arms and legs, at different times, the Doctor bas rallied him on those accidents, as a kind of retributive jus. tice for breaking bis jests upon other people.

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 pleased 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: 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, Our Dodds 14 shall be pious, our Kenricks 15 shall

lecture; Macpherson 16 write bombast, and call it a style; Our Townsend make speeches, and I shall compile; New Lauders and Bowers the Tweed shall cross

over, No countrymen living their tricks to discover:

14 The unfortunate Dr. Dodd.

15 Dr. Kenrick, who read lectures at the Devil-tavern, under the title of “ The School of Shakspeare.”

16 James Macpherson, who lately, from the mere force of his style, wrote down the first poet of all antiquity.

Detection her taper shall quench to a spark, [dark. And Scotchman meet Scotchman, and cheat in the

Here lies David Garrick, describe him who can, An abridgment of all that was pleasant in man: As an actor, confess'd without rival to shine; As a wit, if not first, in the very first line; Yet, with talents like these, and an excellent heart, The man bad his failings—a dupe to his art. Like an ill-judging beauty, his colours he spread, And be-plaster'd with rouge his own natural red. On the stage he was natural, simple, affecting; 'Twas 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, [back. For he knew when he pleased he could whistle them Of praise a mere glutton, he swallow'd what came, And the puff of a dunce be mistook it for fame; 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, be paid them in kind. Ye Kenricks, ye Kellys?7, and Woodfalls 18 so grave, What a commerce was yours, while you got and

you gave!

17 Hugb Kelly, author of False Delicacy, Word to the Wise, Clementina, School for Wives, &c. &c.

18 Mr. W. Woodfall, printer of the Morning Chronicle.

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