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“ For I knew it,” he cried : “ both eternally fail, The one with his speeches, and t'other with Thrale.”

RETALIATION. WHEN Scarron, of old, his companions invited, Each guest brought his dish, and the feast was united : If our landlord supplies us with beef and with fish, Let each guest bring himself, and he brings the best dish. Our Dean shall be venison, just fresh from the plains : Our Burke shall be tongue, with a garnish of brains : Our Will shall be wild-fowl, of excellent flavour, And Dick with his pepper shall heighten the savour: Our Cumberland's sweetbread its place shall obtain, And Douglas is pudding, substantial and plain : Our Garrick's a salad ; for in him we see Oil, vinegar, sugar, and saltness agree: To make out the dinner, full certain I am, That Ridge is anchovy, and Reynolds is lamb; That Hickey's a capon, and by the same rule, Magnanimous Goldsmith a gooseberry-fool. At a dinner so various, at such a repast, Who'd not be a glutton, and stick to the last ? Here, waiter, more wine ; let me sit while I'm able, Till all my companions sink under the table; Then with chaos and blunders encircling my head, Let me ponder, and tell what I think of the dead.

Here lies our good Edmund, whose genius was such,
We scarcely can praise it or blame it too much ;
Who, born for the universe, narrowed his mind,
And to party gave up what was meant for mankind;
Though fraught with all learning, yet straining his throat
To persuade Tommy Townshend to lend him a vote ;
Who, too deep for his hearers, still went on refining,
And thought of convincing, while they thought of dining:
Though equal to all things, for all things unfit,-
Too nice for a statesman, too proud for a wit ;
For a patriot, too cool; for a drudge, disobedient ;
And too fond of the right to pursue the expedient ;
In short, 'twas his fate, unemploy'd or in place, sir,
To eat mutton cold, and cut blocks with a razor.


Here lies David Garrick, describe him who can,

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An abridgement of all that was pleasant in man;
As an actor confest without rival to shine :
As a wit, if not first, in the very first line:
Yet, with talents like these and an excellent heart,
The man had his failings--a dupe to his art.
Like an ill-judging beauty, his colours he spread,
And beplaster'd with rouge his own natural 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;
Though secure of our hearts, yet confoundedly sick
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 swallowed what came,
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 surest to please.
But let us be candid, and speak out our mind :
If dunces applauded, he paid them in kind.
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 his 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 burn ye.
He was, could he help it? a special attorney!
Here Reynolds is laid, and, to tell you my mind,
He's 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, bis manners our heart :
To coscombs averse, yet most civilly steering;
When they judg'd without skill, he was still hard of hearing;
When they talk'd of their Raphaels, Correggios, and stuff,
He shifted his trumpet, and only took snuff.

Hope, like the glimm'ring taper's light,

Adorns and cheers the way;
And still as darker grows the night,

Emits a brighter ray.—Song.

THE GOOD-NATURED MAN. Jarvis. This same philosophy is a good horse in the stable, but an arrant jade on a journey. For my own part, whenever I hear him mention the name on't, I'm always sure he's going to play the fool.- Act 1, Sc. 1.

Mr. Honeywood. It is a melancholy consideration indeed, that our chief comforts often produce our greatest anxieties, and that an increase of our possessions is but an inlet to new disquietudes.

Mr. Croaker. Ah, my dear friend, these were the very words of poor Dick Doleful to me not a week before he made away with himself. Indeed, Mr. Honeywood, I never see you but you put me in mind of poor Dick. Ah, there was merit neglected, for you! And so true a friend : we loved each other for thirty years, and yet he never asked me to lend him a single farthing.

Mr. Honeywood. Pray, what could induce him to commit so rash an action at last ?

Mr. Croaker. I don't know : some people were malicious enough to say it was keeping company with me ; because we used to meet now and then, and open our hearts to each other. To be sure I loved to hear him talk, and he loved to hear me talk:

: poor dear Dick! he used to say that Croaker rhymed to joker; and so we used to laugh. Poor Dick! (Going to cry.)-id.

Mr. Croaker. Ah, my dear friend, it is a perfect satisfaction to be miserable with you. My son Leontine shan't lose the benefit of such fine conversation : I'll just step home for him. I am willing to show him so much seriousness in one scarce older than himself.—And what if I bring my last letter to the Gazetteer on the increase and progress of earthquakes ? It will amuse us, I

you. I there prove how the late earthquake is coming round to pay us another visit: From London to Lisbon, from Lisbon to the Canary Islands, from the Canary Islands to Palmyra, from Palmyra to Constantinople, and so from Constantinople back to London again.--id.

Mr. Honeywood. Excuse me, ladies, if some uneasiness from friendship makes me unfit to share in this good-humour: I know you'll pardon me.


JIrs. Croaker I vow, he seems as melancholy as if he had taken a dose of my husband this morning.-id.

Leontine. But, sir, if you will but listen to reason-
Mr. Croaker. Come, then, produce your reasons.

I tell you I'm fixed, deterinined; so now produce your reasons.

When I'm determined, I always listen to reason, because it can then do no harm.-id.

Mrs. Croaker. Never mind the world, my dear; you were never in a pleasanter place in your life.-Act 2.

Lofty. Waller, Waller ; is he of the house?
Mrs. Croaker. The modern poet of that name, sir.

Lofty. Oh, a modern! we men of business despise the moderns; and as for the ancients, we have no time to read them. -id.

Mr. Croaker. Ay, miss, you wanted to steal a match without letting me know it, did you ? But I'm not worthy being consulted, I suppose, when there's to be a marriage in my own family. No, I am to have no hand in the disposal of my own children. No, I'm nobody. I'm to be a mere article of family lumber; a piece of cracked china to be stuck up in a corner. -id.

Mr. Honeywood. I forget your name, sir ? Bailiff. How can you forget what you never knew ? he he! Dr. Honeywood. May I beg leave to ask your name? Bailiff. Yes, you may. Mr. Honey wood. Then, pray, sir, what is your name, sir? Bailij. That I didn't promise to tell you ; he! he! he! A joke breaks no bones, as we say among us that practise the law.-Act 3.

That friendship which is exerted in too wide a sphere becomes totally useless. Our bounty, like a drop of water, disappears when diffused too widely-id.

Sir William Honeywood. Henceforth, nephew, learn to respect yourself. He who seeks only for applause from without, has all his happiness in another's keeping. -Act 5.

SHE STOOPS TO CONQUER. Mr. Hardcastle. I love everything that's old: old friends, old times, old manners, old books, old wine.—Act 1.

Mrs. Hardcastle. Tony Lumpkin has a good fortune. My son is not to live by his learning. I don't think a boy wants much learning to spend fifteen hundred a year.

Mr. Hardcastle. Learning, quotha! a mere composition of tricks and mischief.

Mrs. Hardcastle. Humour, my dear; nothing but humour. Come, Mr. Hardcastle, you must allow the boy a little humour.

Mr. Hardcastle. I'd sooner allow him a horsepond. If the burning the footmen's shoes, frighting the maids, worrying the kittens, be humour, he has it. It was but yesterday he fastened my wig to the back of my chair, and when I went to make a bow, I popt my bald bead in Mrs. Frizzle's face.

Mrs. Hardcastle. And am I to blame? The poor boy was too sickly to do any good.

A school would be his death. When he comes to be a little stronger, who knows what a year or two's Latin may do for him ?

Mr. Hardcastlé. Latin for him! a cat and fiddle! No, no; the alehouse and the stable are the only schools he'll ever go to.

Mrs. Hardcastle. Well, we must not snub the poor boy now, for I believe we shan't have him long among us. Anybody that looks in his face may see he's consumptive.

Mr. Hardcastle. Ay, if growing too fat be one of the symptoms.

Mrs. Hardcastle. He coughs sometimes. Mr. Hardcastle. Yes, when his liquor goes the wrong way. Mrs. Hardcastle. I'm actually afraid of his lungs. Mr. Hardcastle. And truly so am I; for he sometimes whoops like a speaking-trumpet-(TONY hallooing behind the scenes) —Oh, there he goes—a very consumptive figure, truly. -id.

Hastings. I have often seen a good sideboard, or a marble chimney-piece, though not actually put in the bill, inflame the bill amazingly.-Act 2.

Mr. Hardcastle. Your manner, Mr. Hastings, puts me in mind of my uncle, Colonel Wallop. It was a saying of his, that no man was sure of his supper till he had eaten it.-id.

Mrs. Hardcastle. Since inoculation began, there is no such thing to be seen as a plain woman; so one must dress a little particular, or one may escape in the crowd.

Hastings. But that can never be your case, madam, in any dress.

(Bowing.) Mrs. Hardcastle. Yet what signifies my dressing, when I have such a piece of antiquity by my side as Mr. Hardcastle ? All I can say will not argue down a single button from his clothes.-id.

Tony. What do you follow me for, Cousin Con? I wonder you're not ashamed to be so very engaging.-id.

Hastings. Well; but you must allow her a little beauty. Yes, you must allow her some beauty.


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