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Perhaps he confided in men as they go,

And fo was too foolishly honeft; ah no!

Then what was his failing? come tell it, and burn ye,

He

was,

could he help it? a special attorney.

Here (g) Reynolds is laid, and, to tell you my mind,

He has not left a wifer or better behind;

His pencil was striking, refiftless 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 averfe, yet moft civilly steering,

When they judg'd without skill he was still hard of hearing:

(g) Vide page 7.

When

When they talk'd of their Raphaels, Corregios and stuff, He shifted his (b) trumpet, and only took fnuff.

(b) Sir Joshua Reynolds is fo remarkably deaf as to be under the neceffity of using an ear trumpet in company; he is, at the fame time, equally remarkable for taking a great quantity of fnuff: his manner in both of which, taken in the point of time described, must be allowed, by thofe 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.

POSTSCRIPT.

AFTE

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 fheet of paper, contain“ing near forty lines in the Doctor's own hand-writing: “there are many scattered, broken verses, on Sir Jos. Rey

nolds, Counsellor Ridge, Mr. (b) Beauclerk, and Mr.

(a) Mr. Caleb Whitefoord, Author of many humorous Effays.

(b) Topham Beauclerk, Efq; well known in the polite world as a scholar, a man of wit, and a fine gentleman.

"White

"Whitefoord. The Epitaph on the laft-mentioned gentle

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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 fheet of paper in the Doctor's room, five or fix days before he died; and, as I had got all the other Epitaphs, 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;
Whose temper was generous, open, fincere;

A ftranger to flatt'ry, a stranger to fear;

(c) Mr. W. is fo notorious a punfter, that Doctor Goldfmith used to say, it was impoffible to keep him company, without being infected with the itch of punning.

Who

Who scatter'd around wit and humour at will,

Whose daily bons mots half a column might fill:
A Scotchman from pride and from prejudice free,

A scholar, yet furely no pedant was he.

What pity, alas! that fo lib'ral a mind

Should fo long be to news-paper-efsays confin'd!

Who perhaps to the fummit of science could foar,
Yet content" if the table he fet on a roar ;"
Whose talents to fill any ftation were fit,

Yet happy if (d) Woodfall confefs'd him a wit.

Ye news-paper witlings! ye pert fcribbling folks! Who copied his squibs, and re-echoed his jokes,

(d) Mr. H. S. Woodfall, Printer of the Public Advertiser.

Ye

Ye tame imitators, ye fervile herd come,

Still follow your mafter, and vifit his tomb:

To deck it, bring with you feftoons of the vine,

And copious libations beftow on his fhrine;

Then ftrew all around it (you can do no less)

(e) Cross-readings, Ship-news, and Mistakes of the Press.

Merry Whitefoord, farewel! for thy fake I admit

That a Scot may have humour, I had almost faid wit:

This debt to thy mem'ry I cannot refuse,

"Thou beft humour'd man with the worst humour'd mufe!"

(e) Mr. Whiteford has frequently indulged the town with humorous pieces under thofe titles in the Public Advertifer.

THE EN D.

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