You may make a mistake, and think slightly of this. [Illustration] FOOTNOTES: [8] Lord Clare’s nephew. [9] Miss Dorothy Monroe. [10] Colman. [11] From a letter of the Duke of Cumberland. [Illustration: RETALIATION] Of old, when Scarròn[12] 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[13] shall be venison, just fresh from the plains; Our Burke[14] shall be tongue, with a garnish of brains; Our Will[15] shall be wild-fowl, of excellent flavour; And Dick[16] with his pepper shall heighten their savour; Our Cumberland’s[17] sweet-bread its place shall obtain; And Douglas[18] is pudding, substantial and plain; Our Garrick’s[19] a salad, for in him we see Oil, vinegar, sugar, and saltness agree; To make out the dinner, full certain I am That Ridge[20] is anchovy, and Reynolds[21] is lamb; That Hickey’s[22] 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 the good Dean, re-united to earth, Who mix’d reason with pleasure, and wisdom with mirth; If he had any faults, he has left us in doubt-- At least, in six weeks I could not find them out; Yet some have declar’d, and it can’t be denied them, That sly-boots was cursedly cunning to hide them. Here lies our good Edmund, whose genius was such, We scarcely can praise it, or blame it too much; Who, born for the universe, narrow’d 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[23] 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 honest William, whose heart was a mint, While the owner ne’er knew half the good that was in ’t; The pupil of impulse, it forc’d him along, His conduct still right, with his argument wrong; Still aiming at honour, yet fearing to roam-- The coachman was tipsy, the chariot drove home; Would you ask for his merits? alas! he had none; What was good was spontaneous, his faults were his own.