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Yet with talents like these, and an excellent | Old Shakspeare receive him with praise and heart,
The man has his failings, a dupe to his art; Like an ill-judging beauty his colours he spread,
And Beaumonts and Bens be his Kellys above.
And be-plaster'd with rouge his own natal 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;
Tho' secure of our hearts, yet confoundedly
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
And the puff of a dunce he mistook it for fame;
Till his relish grown callous, almost to disease, Who pepper'd the highest was sure best 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
While he was be-Roscius'd, and yon were be-
But peace to his spirit, wherever it flies,
To act as an augel, and mix with the skies!
Those poets who owe their best fame to his
Shall still be his flatterers, go where he will;
Here Hickey reclines, a most blunt, pleasant creature,
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!
Then what was his failing? come tell it, and
He was, could he help it
Here Reynolds is laid:
He has not left a wiser or better behind :
His pencil was striking, resistless, and grand;
His manners were gentle, complying, and
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 skill he was still
hard of hearing;
When they talk'd of their Raphaels, Corregios,
He shifted his * trumpet, and only took souff.
a special attorney. and to tell you may
* Sir Joshua Reynolds was so remarkably deaf as to be under the necessity of using an ear-trumpet in company.
END OF THE BEAUTIES OF GOLDSMITH.
THE SPLENDID SHILLING.
Sing heavenly muse! "Things unattempted yet in prose or rhyme;" A shilling, breeches, and chimeras dire.
HAPPY the man, who, void of cares and strife,
In silken or in leathern purse retains
A splendid shilling. He nor hears with pain
New oysters cried, nor sighs for cheerful ale:
But with his friends, when nightly mists arise,
To Juniper's Magpye, or Town Hall,* repairs;
Where mindful of the nymph whose wanton
Transfix'd his soul, and kindled amorous
Chloe or Phillis, he each circling glass
Wisheth her health, and joy, and equal love.
Meanwhile he smokes, and laughs at merry
Or pun ambiguous, or conundrum quaint.
But I, whom griping penury surrounds,
And hunger, sure attendant upon want,
With scanty offals, and small acid tiff,
(Wretched repast!) my meagre corse sustain:
Then solitary walk, or doze at home
In garret vile, and with a warming puff
Regale chill'd fingers; or, from tube as black
As winter chimney, or well-polish'd jet,
Exhale muudungus, ill perfuming scent;
Not blacker tube, nor of a shorter size,
Smokes Cambro-Briton (vers'd in pedigree,
Sprung from Cadwallader and Arthur, kings
Full famous in romantic tale) when he
O'er many a craggy hill and barren cliff,
Upon a cargo of fam'd Cestrian cheese,
High overshadowing rides, with a design
To vend his wares, or at th' Arvonian mart,
Or Maridunum, or the ancient town
Yclep'd Brechinia, or where Vaga's stream
Encircles Ariconium, fruitful soil!
Whence flow nectareous wines, that well may
With Massic, Setin, or renown'd Falern.
Thus, while my joyless minutes tedious flow, With looks demure, and silent pace, a dun, Horrible monster! hated by gods and men, To my aerial citadel ascends: With vocal heel thrice thund'ring at my gate, With hideous accent thrice he calls; I know
Two noted ale-houses in Oxford.
The voice ill-boding, and the solemu sound.
What should I do? or whither turn? Amaz'd,
Confounded, to the dark recess 1 fly
Of wood-hole; straight my bristling hairs
Thro' sudden fear; a chilly sweat bedews
My shudd'ring limbs, and (wonderful to tell!)
My tongue forgets her faculty of speech;
So horrible he seems! His faded brow
Entrench'd with many a frown, and conic
And spreading band, admir'd by modern saints,
Disastrous acts forebode; in his right hand
Long scrolls of paper solemnly he waves,
With characters and figures dire inscrib'd,
Grievous to mortal eyes (ye gods, avert
Such plagues from righteous men!). Behind
Another monster, not unlike himself,
Sullen of aspect, by the vulgar call'd
A catchpole, whose polluted bands the gods
With force incredible, and magic charms,
Erst have endued; if he his ample palm
Should haply on ill-fated shoulder lay
Of debtor, straight his body, to the touch
Obsequious (as whilom knights were wont),
To some enchanted castle is convey'd,
Where gates impregnable, and coercive chains,
In durance strict detain him; till, in forin
Of inoney, Pallas sets the captive free.
Beware ye debtors! when ye walk beware,
Be circumspect; oft with insidious ken
This caitiff eyes your steps aloof; and oft
Lies perdue in a nook or gloomy cave,
Prompt to enchant some inadvertent wretch
With his unhallow'd touch. So (poets sing).
Grimalkin, to domestic vermin sworn
An everlasting foe, with watchful eye
Lies nightly brooding o'er a chinky gap,
Portending her fell claws, to thoughtless mice
Sure ruin. So her disembowell'd web
Arachne in a hall or kitchen spreads,
Obvious to vagrant flies: she secret stands
Within her woven cell; the humming prey
Regardless of their fate, rush on the toils inextricable, nor will aught avail Their arts, or arms, or shapes of lovely hue; The wasp insidious, and the buzzing drone, And butterfly, proud of expanded wings ⚫ Distinct with gold, entangled in her suares, Useless resistance make: with eager strides, She tow'ring flies to her expected spoils; Then with envenom'd jaws the vital blood Drinks of reluctant foes, and to her cave Their bulky carcases triumphant drags.
So pass my days. But when nocturnal shades
This world envelop, and th' inclement air Persuados men to repel benumbing frosts With pleasant wines, and crackling blaze of wood;
Me, lonely sitting, nor the glimmering light
Of make-weight candle, nor the joyous talk
Of loving friends, delights; distress'd, forlorn,
Amidst the horrors, of the tedious night,
Darkling I sigh, and feed with dismal thoughts
My anxious mind; or sometimes mournful
Indite, and sing of groves and myrtle shades,
Or desp'rate lady near a purling stream,
Or lover pendant on a willow-tree.
Meanwhile I labour with eternal drought,
And restless wish, and rave; my parched
In vain awake, I find the settled thirst
Still, guawing, and the pleasant phantom
Thus do I live, from pleasure quite debarr'd,
Nor taste the fruits that the sun's genial rays
Mature-john-apple, nor the downy peach,
Nor walnut in rough furrow'd coat secure,
Nor medlar fruit delicious in decay.
Afflictions great! yet greater still remain:
My galligaskins, that have long withstood
The winter's fury, and encroaching frosts,
By time subdued (what will not time subdue ?)
A horrid chasm disclose, with orifice
Wide, discontinuous; at which the winds,
Eurus and Auster, and the dreadful force
Of Boreas, that congeals the Cronian waves,
Tumultuous enter with dire chilling blasts,
Portending agues. Thus a well-fraught ship,
Long sail'd secure, or thro' th' Egeau deep,
Or the Ionian, till cruising near
The Lilybean shore, with hideous crush
On Scylla or Charybdis (dang'rous rocks)
She strikes rebounding; whence the shatter'd
Finds no relief, nor heavy eyes repose :
But if a slumber haply does invade
My weary limbs, my fancy's still awake,
Thoughtful of drink, and eager, in a dream,
Tippies imaginary pets of ale,
END OF THE BEAUTIES OF PHILLIPS.
An Original Ballad,
Composed expresly for La Belle Assemblee
By M. P. King.
soul of peace and rest Then maid -- en
if thy heart be free Oh! sweetly deign to