We'll have Johnson, and Burke; all the wits will

be there;

My acquaintance is slight, or I'd ask my lord Clare.
And, now that I think on't, as I am a sinner!
We wanted this ven'son to make out a dinner.
I'll take no denial :-it shall, and it must,
And my wife, little Kitty, is famous for crust.
Here, 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;' [hasty, Though I could not help thinking my gentleman Yet Johnson, and Burke, and a good ven❜son pasty, Were things that I never dislik'd in my life, Though clogg'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 were all to dine,

dumb

(A chair-lumber'd closet, just twelve feet by nine)
My friend bade me welcome, but struck me quite
[come;
With tidings that Johnson and Burke would 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 makeup the party,
With two full as clever, and ten times as hearty.
The one is a Scotchman, 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; At the sides there were spinnage 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- -'d Scottish

rogue,

With his long-winded speeches, his smiles, and his brogue,

And, Madam,' quoth he,' may this bit be my If a prettier dinner I ever set eyes on; [poison, Pray a slice of your liver, though may I be curs'd 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; [all.' But your friend there, the doctor, eats nothing at 'O-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 the 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;

her?)

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
[baker:
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.
Goldsmith.

RETALIATION.

[Dr. Goldsmith and some of his friends occasionally dined at the St. James's Coffee-house.-One day it was proposed to write epitaphs 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.

[fish,

If our landlord* supplies us with beef and with 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 he has characterized in this poem, occasionally dined.

Our dean* shall be ven'son, just fresh from the

plains,

Our Burket shall be tongue, with the garnish of

brains,

Our Will shall be wild fowl, of excellent flavour, And Dick with his pepper shall heighten the

savour,

Our Cumberland's || sweet-bread its place shall obtain,

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

* Dr. Bernard, dean of Derry in Ireland.

+ Edmund Burke, esq.

Mr. William Burke, late secretary to general Conway. § Mr. Richard Burke, collector of Grenada.

Richard Cumberland, esq.

Dr. Douglas, canon of Windsor, and bishop of Salisbury. ** David Garrick, esq.

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

Sir Joshua Reynolds.
An eminent attorney

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

throat

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 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 The pupil of impulse, it forc'd him along, [in'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; Would you ask for his merits? alas! he had none ! What was good was spontaneous, his faults were [at;

his own.

Here lies honest Richard, whose fate I must sigh Alas! that such frolic should now be so quiet!