Here, waiter, more wine, let me fit while I'm able,. 'Till all my companions fink under the table;

Then with chaos and blunders encircling my head,

Let me ponder, and tell what I think of the dead..

Here lies the good (m) Dean, re-united to earth, Who mixt reason with pleasure, and wisdom with mirth :: If he had any faults, he has left us in doubt,

At least, in fix weeks, I could not find 'em out;

Yet fome have declar'd, and it can't be denied 'em,,

That fly-boots was curfedly cunning to hide 'em.

Here lies our good (2) Edmund, whofe genius was fuch,,

We scarcely can praise it, or blame it too much;

(m) Vide Page 6.. (n) Ibid.

Who,

Who, born for the Universe, narrow'd his mind,

And to party gave up, what was meant for mankind.
Tho' fraught with all learning, yet ftraining his throat,
To perfuade (0) Tommy Townsend to lend him a vote ;
Who, too deep for his hearers, still went on refining,
And thought of convincing, while they thought of dining;
Tho' 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 honeft (p) William, whofe heart was a mint,

While the owner ne'er knew half the good that was in't;

The pupil of impulfe, it forc'd him along,

His conduct still right, with his argument wrong;

Still aiming at honour, yet fearing to roam,

The coachman was tipfy, the chariot drove home;

Would you ask for his merits, alas! he had none,

What was good was fpontaneous, his faults were his own.

Here lies honeft Richard, whose fate I must sigh at, Alas, that fuch frolic fhould now be so quiet!

What fpirits were his, what wit and what whim,

(q) Now breaking a jeft, and now breaking a limb;

(p) Vide Page 6.

Now

(2) Mr. Richard Burke; vide page 6. This gentleman having flightly frac

tured

1

Now wrangling and grumbling to keep up the ball,

Now teazing and vexing, yet laughing at all ?

In short fo provoking a Devil was Dick,

That we wish'd him full ten times a day at Old Nick.

But miffing his mirth and agreeable vein,

As often we wish'd to have Dick back again.

Here (r) Cumberland lies having acted his parts,

The Terence of England, the mender of hearts;
A flattering painter, who made it his care

To draw men as they ought to be, not as they are.

tured one of his arms and legs, at different times, the Doctor has rallied him

on thofe accidents, as a kind of retributive juftice for breaking his jefts upon other people.

(r) Vide page 5.

His

His gallants are all faultlefs, his women divine,

And comedy wonders at being fo fine;

Like a tragedy queen he has dizen'd her out,

Or rather like tragedy giving a rout.

His fools have their follies fo loft in a croud

Of virtues and feelings, that folly grows proud,

And coxcombs alike in their failings alone,

Adopting his portraits are pleas'd with their own.
Say, where has our poet this malady caught,

Or wherefore his characters thus without fault?

Say was it that vainly directing his view,

To find out mens virtues and finding them few,
Quite fick of pursuing each troublesome elf,

He grew lazy at last and drew from himself?

Here