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Let it be genuine, bright and fine,
Pure uadulterated wine ;
For if there's fault in taste, or odour,
Hle'll search it as he fearch'd out Lauder
To Johnson, philofophic fage,
The moral Mentor of the age,
Religion's friend, with foul lincere,
With melting heart, but look austere,
Give liquor of an honest fort,
And crown his cup with priestly Port!
Now fill the glass with gay Champagne, and frisk it in a livelier ifrain: Quick! Quick! the sparkling nectar quiff, Drink it, dear Garrick. -drink and laugh!
Puur furth to Reynolds, without ftint,
Rich Burgundy, of ruby tint ;
If e'er his colours chance to fade,
This brilliant hue shall come in aid,
With ruddy lights refresh the faces,
And warm the bofoins of the Graces.
T, Berke a piire libation briog,
Fresh drawn from clear Caftalian spring
With civic oak the goblet bind,
Hit emblem of his patriot mind;
Let Clio as his tafter fip.
And Hermes hand it to his lip.
Till un my liiend. the Dean of Dirry; A bumper of conventual Sberry.
Give Ridge and lliky, generous sculs !
Of Whisky punch convivial bowls;
Put let the kindred Eurkes regale
With potent draughts of Wicklow Ale;
To C- k next, in order turn you,
And grace him with the vines of Furney!
Now, Doctor, thou’it an honeft sticker,
So take your glass, and chuse your liquor ;
Wilt have it ftecp'd in Alpine snows,
Or damask'd at Silinas' nose ?
Will Wakefield's Vicar Gp your tea,
Or to Thalia drink with me?
And, Doctor, I wou'd have you know it,
An honeft, I, tho’humble.poet ;
I scorn the sneaker like a toad,
Who drives his cart the Dover road;
There traitor to his country's trade,
Smuggles vile scraps of French brocade ;
Hence, with all such ! for you and I,
By English wares will live and die.
Come, draw your chair and stir the fire :
Here, boy !-a pot of Thrale's Entire!
Written fome time since by D. G-, Esq.
ER E Hermes, says Jove who with nectar was
, mellow, Go fetch me fome clay-- I will make an odd fellow : Right and wrong shall be jumbled, - much gold, and
fome dross : Without cause be he pleas'd, without cause be he cross; Be sure as I work, to throw in contradictions, A great love of truth ; yet a mind turn’d to hidtions ; Now mix these ingredients, which warın’d in the
baking, Turn to Learning, and Gaming, Religion, and Raking, With the love of a wench, let his writings be chaite; Tip his tongue with strange matter, his pen with fine
tafte, That the Rake and the Poet o’er all may prevail, Set fire to the head, and set fire to the tail :
For the joy of each sex on the world I'll bestow it :
This Scholar, Rake, Christian, Dupe, Gamester, and
Tho' a mixture so odd, he shall merit great fame,
And among brother mortals—be GOLDSMITH his
When on earth this strange meteor, no more shall
You Hermes shall fetch him,-to make us sport here!