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Too courteous, perhaps, or obligingly flat?
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, His pencil our faces, his manners our heart: To coxcombs averse, yet most civilly steering, When they judg'd without sạill he was still hard
of hearing; When they talk'd of their Raphaels, Corregios, and
stuff, He shifted his trumpet', and only took snuff.
i Sir Joshua Reynolds was so remarkably deaf as to be under the necessity of using an ear-trumpet in company,
After the fourth edition of this poem was printed, the
publisher received the following epitaph on Mr. Whitefoord', from a friend of the late Dr. Goldsmith.
Here Whitefoord reclines, and deny it who can,
1 Mr. Caleb Whitefoord, author of many humorous essays.
2 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 puaning.
A Scotchman, from pride and from prejudice free; A scholar, yet surely no pedant was he.
What pity, alas! that so lib’ral a mind Should so long be to newspaper essays confin'd! 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 Woodfall' confess'd him a wit.
Ye newspaper witlings! ye pert scribbling folks! Who copied his squibs, and re-echo'd 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 less) Cross-readings, ship-news, and mistakes of the press”.
Merry Whitefoord, farewell! for thy sake I admit That a Scot may have humour, I had almost said
1 Mr. H. S. Woodfall, printer of the Public Advertiser.
2 Mr. Whitefoord has frequently indulged the town with humorous pieces under those titles in the Public Advertiser,
This debt to thy mem'ry I cannot refuse,
i To this PostScript the Reader may not be displeased
(FROM THE GENTLEMAN'S MAGAZINE FOR AUGUST, 178.)
Doctor, according to our wishes,
To Douglas, fraught with learned stock
To Johnson, philosophic sage,
Religion's friend, with soul sincere,
Now fill the glass with gay Champagne,
Pour forth to Reynolds, without stint,
To Burke a pure libation bring,
Fill out my friend, the Dean * of Derry, A bumper of conventual sherry!
Give Ridge and Hickey, generous souls! Of whiskey punch convivial bowls; But let the kindred Burkes regale With potent draughts of Wicklow ale ! To C*****k next in order turn ye, And grace him with the vines of Ferney!
* Dr. Barnard.