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Perhaps he confided in men as they go,
And so was too foolihly honest; ah nol
Here (8) 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 :
(8) Vide page 7.
When they talk’d of their Raphaels, Corregios and stuff,
He shifted his (6) trumpet, and only took snuff.
(b) Sir Joshua Reynolds is so remarkably deaf as to be under the necessity of using an ear trumpet in company; he is, at the same time, equally remarkable for taking a great quantity of snuff: his manner in both of which, taken in the point of time described, must be allowed, by those who have been witneffes of such a scene, to be as happily given upon paper, as that great Artist himself, perhaps, could have exhibited upon canvas.
P O S T SCRIPT. A FTER the Fourth Edition of this poem was
printed, the Publisher received an Epitaph on Mr. (a) - Whitefoord, from a friend of the late Doctor Goldsmith inclosed in a letter, of which the following is an abstract.
“ I have in my poffeffion a sheet of paper, contain“ ing near forty lines in the Doctor's own hand-writing: “ there are many scattered, broken verses, on Sir Jof. Rey“ nolds, Counsellor Ridge, Mr. (6) Beauclerk, and Mr.
(a) Mr. Caleb Whitefoord, Author of many humorous Effays. (6) Topham Beauclerk, Esq; well known in the polite world as a scholar, a man of wit, and a fine gentleman.
“ Whitefoord. The Epitaph on the last-mentioned gentle“ man is the only one that is finished, and therefore I have “ copied it, that you may add it to the next edition. It “ is a striking proof of Doctor Goldsmith’s good-nature. “ I saw this Theet of paper in the Doctor's room, five or fix « days before he died; and, as I had got all the other Epi" taphs, I asked him if I might take it. “In truth you “ may, my Boy, (replied he) for it will be of no use to me " where I am going.'
Here Whitefoord reclines, and deny it who can, Though he merrily liv’d, he is now a (c) grave man;
Rare compound of oddity, frolic and fun!
Who relish'd a joke, and rejoic’d in a pun;
(c) Mr. W. is so notorious a punster, that Doctor Goldsmith used to say, it was impossible to keep him company, without being infeated with the itch of punning
Who scatter'd around wit and humour at will,
What pity, alas! that so lib’ral a mind
Should so long be to news-paper-essays confin’d!
Ye news-paper witlings ! ye pert fcribbling folks! Who copied his fquibs, and re-echoed his jokes,
(d) Mr. H. S. Woodfall, Printer of the Public Advertiser.
Still follow your master, and visit his tomb: “.
To deck it, bring with you festoons of the vine,
Merry Whitefoord, farewell for thy fake I admit That a Scot may have humour, I had almost said wit :: This debt to thy mem'ry I cannot refuse, ' '.:. • Thou best humour'd man with the worst humour’dmuse!”
(e) Mr. Whiteford has frequently indulged the town with humorous pieces under those titles in the Public Advertiser. .'.