Then, come, put the jorum about, And let us be merry and clever; Our hearts and our liquors are stout-- Here’s the “Three Jolly Pigeons” for ever! Let some cry up woodcock or hare, Your bustards, your ducks, and your widgeons; But of all the gay birds in the air-- Here’s a health to the “Three Jolly Pigeons.” To-roddle, &c. [Illustration] [Illustration: ANSWER TO AN INVITATION TO DINNER.] “This _is_ a poem! This _is_ a copy of verses!” Your mandate I got-- You may all go to pot: Had your senses been right, You’d have sent before night. As I hope to be sav’d, I put off being shav’d, For I could not make bold, While the matter was cold, To meddle in suds, Or to put on my duds. So tell Horneck and Nesbitt, And Baker and his bit, And Kauffman beside, And the Jessamy[44] bride, With the rest of the crew, The Reynoldses two, Little Comedy’s[45] face, And the Captain[46] in lace. --(By the by, you may tell him I have something to sell him; Of use, I insist, When he comes to enlist. Your worships must know, That a few days ago An order went out, For the foot-guards so stout To wear tails in high taste-- Twelve inches at least: Now, I’ve got him a scale To measure each tail; To lengthen a short tail, And a long one to curtail.) Yet how can I, when vext, Thus stray from my text! Tell each other to rue Your Devonshire crew. For sending so late To one of my state. But ’tis Reynolds’s way, From wisdom to stray, And Angelica’s whim To be frolick like him-- But, alas! your good worships, how could they be wiser, When both have been spoil’d in to-day’s _Advertiser_?[47] OLIVER GOLDSMITH. FOOTNOTES: [44] Miss Mary Horneck. [45] Miss Catherine Horneck, afterwards Mrs. Bunbury. [46] Ensign Horneck. [47] The allusion is to some complimentary verses, in the _Advertiser_, on Kauffman and Reynolds. [Illustration: A SONG [Intended to have been sung in the comedy of “She Stoops to Conquer.” Adapted to the Irish air, “The Humours of Ballamaguiry.”]] Ah, me! when shall I marry me? Lovers are plenty, but fail to relieve me; He, fond youth, that could carry me, Offers to love, but means to deceive 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--loses a lover. [Illustration: FROM THE LATIN OF VIDA.] Say, heavenly muse, their youthful frays rehearse; Begin, ye daughters of immortal verse. Exulting rocks have own’d the power of song, And rivers listen’d as they flow’d along. [Illustration: AN ELEGY ON THAT GLORY OF HER SEX, MRS. MARY BLAIZE.] Good people all, with one accord, Lament for Madam Blaize, Who never wanted a good word-- From those who spoke her praise.