Wise Aristotle and Smiglesius, By ratiocinations specious, Have strove to prove, with great precision, But for my soul I cannot credit 'em: Than reason, boasting mortals' pride; And that brute beasts are far before 'em, Who ever knew an honest brute At law his neighbour prosecute; They eat their meals, and take their sport; They never to the levee go To treat as dearest friend a foe: Nor draw the quill to write for Bob:* He promises with equal air, And to perform takes equal care. At court, the porters, lackeys, waiters, SONG Intended to have been sung in the Comedy of "She Stoops to Conquer." АH me! when shall I marry me? But I will rally and combat the ruiner: Not a look, not a smile, shall my passion discover; She that gives all to the false-one pursuing her, Makes but a penitent, and loses a lover. *Sir Robert Walpole. A NEW SIMILE, In the Manner of Swift. " LONG had I sought in vain to find Imprimis: pray observe his hat, In the next place, his feet peruse, Lastly, vouchsafe t' observe his hand, Though ne'er so much awake before, With this he drives men's souls to hell. His wand's a modern author's pen; And here my simile almost tript, Are they but senseless stones and blocks AN ELEGY On the Death of a Mad Dog. GOOD people all, of every sort, Give ear unto my song; Whene'er he went to pray. A kind and gentle heart he had, And in that town a dog was found, As many dogs there be, Both mongrel, puppy, whelp, and hound, This dog and man at first were friends; The dog, to gain his private ends, Went mad, and bit the man. The wound it seem'd both sore and sad And while they swore the dog was mad, But soon a wonder came to light, That shew'd the rogues they ly'd: A window, patch'd with paper, lent a ray, face: The morn was cold; he views with keen desire With beer and milk arrears the frieze was scor'd, A night-cap deck'd his brows instead of bay, ON A BEAUATIFUL YOUTH STRUCK BLIND BY LIGHTNING. Imitated from the Spanish. SURE 'twas by Providence design'd, STANZAS ON THE TAKING OF QUEBEC. AMIDST the clamour of exulting joys, Which triumph forces from the patriot heart, Grief dares to mingle her soul-piercing voice, And quells the raptures which from pleasure start. Oh, Wolfe! to thee a streaming flood of woe Sighing we pay, and think e'en conquest dear; Quebec in vain shall teach our breasts to glow, Whilst thy sad fate extorts the heart-wrung tear. Alive, the foe thy dreadful vigour fled, And saw thee fall with joy-pronouncing eyes; Yet they shall know thou conquerest, though dead! Since from thy tomb a thousand heroes rise. EPITAPH ON DR. PARNELL. THIS tomb, inscrib'd to gentle Parnell's name, That leads to truth through pleasure's flowery way! EPITAPH ON EDWARD PURDÓN.* HERE lies poor Ned Purdon, from misery freed, Who long was a bookseller's hack: He led such a damnable life in this world, I don't think he'll wish to come back. *This person was educated at Trinity College, Dublin; but having wasted his patrimony, he enlisted as a foot-soldier. Growing tired of that employment, he obtained his discharge, and became a scribbler in the newspapers. He translated Voltaire's Henriade. Goldsmith's epitaph is nearly a translation from alittle piece of De Cailly's, called La Mort du Sire Estienne. AN ELEGY ON THE GLORY OF HER SEX, GOOD people all, with one accord, Who left a pledge behind. She strove the neighbourhood to please, With manners wondrous winning, And never follow'd wicked ways Unless when she was sinning. At church, in silks and satins new, But when she shut her eyes. By twenty beaux and more; The king himself has follow'd her- But now her wealth and finery fled, Her hangers-on cut short-all; The doctors found, when she was dead, Her last disorder mortal. Let us lament, in sorrow sore; For Kent-street well may say, That, had she liv'd a twelvemonth more, She had hot died to-day. SONG. WEEPING, murmuring, complaining, Fears th' approaching bridal night. She long had wanted cause of fear. SONG. FROM THE ORATORIO OF THE CAPTIVITY. THE wretch condemn'd with life to part, And ev'ry pang that rends the heart, Bids expectation rise. Hope, like the glimm'ring taper's light, And still, as darker grows the night, SONG. O MEMORY! thou fond deceiver, Still importunate and vain, To former joys recurring ever, And turning all the past to pain. Thou, like the world, the oppress'd oppressing, A PROLOGUE, Written and spoken by the Poet Laberius, a Roman Knight, whom Cæsar forced upon the Stage. Preserved by Macrobius. WHAT! no way left to shun th' inglorious stage, PROLOGUE TO ZOBEIDE, IN these bold times, when Learning's sons explore Our bard into the general spirit enters, He this way steers his course, in hopes of trading— To make an observation on the shore. There mangroves spread, and larger than I've seen Here ill-conditioned oranges abound- [Balconies. [Stage. [Tasting them. Th' inhabitants are cannibals, I fear : I heard a hissing-there are serpents here! O, there the people are-best keep my distance; Our captain (gentle natives) craves assistance; Our ship's well stor❜d-in yonder creek we've laid her, His honour is no mercenary trader. This is his first adventure; lend him aid, And we may chance to drive a thriving trade. His goods, he hopes, are prime, and brought from far, Equally fit for gallantry and war. What no reply to promises so ample? -I'd best step back-and order up a sample. *This translation was first printed in one of Goldsmith's earliest works, "The present State of Learning in Europe," 12mo. 1759. C EPILOGUE, SPOKEN BY MR. LEE LEWES, In the Character of Harlequin, at his Benefit. HOLD! prompter, hold! a word before your nonsense; I'd speak a word or two to ease my conscience. My pride forbids it ever should be said, My heels eclips'd the honours of my head; [Takes off his mask. Aye, 'twas but a dream, for now there'sno retreating; If I cease Harlequin, I cease from eating. 'Twas thus that Æsop's stag, a creature blameless, Yet something vain, like one that shall be nameless, Once on the margin of a fountain stood, And cavill'd at his image in the flood: "The deuce confound," he cries, "these drumstick shanks, They neither have my gratitude nor thanks: [Taking a jump through the stage-door. EPILOGUE TO THE COMEDY OF THE SISTERS. WHAT! five long acts-and all to make us wiser! Well, since she thus has shewn her want of skill, But how? aye, there's the rub! [pausing]-I've got my cue: you. The world's a masquerade! the maskers, you, you, [To Boxes, Pit, and Gallery. Lud! what a group the motley scene discloses! False wits, false wives, false virgins, and false spouses! Statesmen with bridles on; and, close behind 'em, There Hebes, turn'd of fifty, try once more Miss, not yet full fifteen, with fire uncommon, Looking, as who should say, Damme! who's afraid? [Mimicking. Strip but his vizor off, and sure I am Yon critic, too-but whither do I run? If I proceed, our bard will be undone ! FINIS. THOMSON'S SEASONS. THE LIFE OF JAMES THOMSON. BY DR. SAMUEL JOHNSON. JAMES THOMSON, the son of a minister well esteemed for his piety and diligence, was born September 7th, 1700, at Ednam, in the shire of Roxburgh, of which his father was pastor. His mother, whose name was Hume, inherited as co-heiress a portion of a small estate. The revenue of a parish in Scotland is seldom large; and it was probably in commiseration of the difficulty with which Mr. Thomson supported his family, having nine children, that Mr. Riccarton, a neighbouring minister, discovering in James uncommon promises of future excellence, undertook to superintend his education, and provide him books. He was taught the common rudiments of learning at the school of Jedburg, a place which he delights to recollect in his poem of "Autumn;" but was not considered by his master as superior to common boys, though in those early days he amused his patron and his friends with poetical compositions ; with which, however, he so little pleased himself, that on every new-year's day he threw into the fire all the productions of the foregoing year. From the school he was removed to Edinburgh, where he had not resided two years when his father died, and left all his children to the care of their mother, who raised upon her little estate what money a mortgage could afford, and, removing with her family to Edinburgh, lived to see her son rising into eminence. The design of Thomson's friends was to breed him a minister. He lived at Edinburgh, as at school, without distinction or expectation, till, at the usual time, he performed a probationary exercise by explaining a psalm. His diction was so poetically splendid, that Mr. Hamilton, the professor of Divinity, reproved him for speaking language unintelligible to a popular audience; and he censured one of his expressions as indecent, if not profane. This rebuke is reported to have repressed his thoughts of an ecclesiastical character, and he probably cultivated with new diligence his blossoms of poetry, which, however, were in some danger of a blast; for, submitting his productions to some who thought themselves qualified to criticise, he heard of nothing but faults; but, finding other judges more favourable, he did not suffer himself to sink into despondence. He easily discovered that the only stage on which a poet could appear, with any hope of advantage, was London; a place too wide for the operation of petty competition and private malignity, where merit might soon become conspicuous, and would find friends as soon as it became reputable to befriend it. A lady who was acquainted with his mother, advised him to the journey, and promised some countenance or assistance, which at last he never received; however, he justified his adventure by her encouragement, and came to seek in London patronage and fame. At his arrival he found his way to Mr. Mallet, then tutor to the sons of the Duke of Montrose. He had recommendations to several persons of consequence, which he had tied up carefully in his handkerchief; but as he passed along the street, with the gaping curiosity of a new-comer, his attention was upon every thing rather than his pocket, and his magazine of credentials was stolen from him. His first want was a pair of shoes. For the supply of all his necessities, his whole fund was his Winter, which for a time could find no purchaser; till, at last, Mr, Millan was persuaded to buy it at a low price; and this low price he had for some time reason to regret; but, by accident, Mr. Whatley, a man not wholly unknown among authors, 'happening to turn his eye upon it, was so delighted that he ran from place to place celebrating its excellence. Thomson obtained likewise the notice of Aaron Hill, whom, being friendless and indigent, and glad of kindness, he courted with every expression of servile adulation. Winter was dedicated to Sir Spencer Compton, but attracted no regard from him to the author; till Aaron Hill awakened his attention by some verses addressed to Thomson, and published in one of the newspapers, which censured the great for their neglect of ingenious men. Thomson then received a present of twenty guineas, of which he gives this account to Mr. Hill: "I hinted to you in my last, that on Saturday "morning I was with Sir Spencer Compton. A "certain gentleman, without my desire, spoke to "him concerning me; his answer was, that I had "never come near him. Then the gentleman put "the question, If he desired that I should wait on "him? He returned, he did. On this, the gentleman gave me an introductory Letter to him. He "received me in what they commonly call a civil manner; asked me some common-place questions; "and made me a present of twenty guineas. I am very ready to own that the present was larger than my performance deserved; and shall ascribe it to 66 |