2 Ye Kenricks, ye Kellys', and Woodfalls so grave, What a commerce was yours, while you got and you gave! How did Grub-street re-echo the shouts that you rais'd, While he was be-Roscius'd, and you were be-prais'd! But peace to his spirit, wherever it flies, To act as an angel and mix with the skies: Those poets, who owe their best fame to his skill, Shall still be his flatt'rers, go where he will: Old Shakspeare receive him with praise and with love, And Beaumonts and Bens be his Kellys above. Here Hickey reclines, a most blunt pleasant crea ture, And slander itself must allow him good-nature; 'Mr. Hugh Kelly, author of False Delicacy, Word to the Wise, Clementina, School for Wives, &c. &c. Mr. W. Woodfall, printer of the Morning Chronicle. Too courteous, perhaps, or obligingly flat? 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 has 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, his manners our heart: To coxcombs averse, yet most civilly steering, When they judg'd without skill he was still hard of hearing; When they talk'd of their Raphaels, Corregio's, and stuff, He shifted his trumpet', and only took snuff. 1 Sir Joshua Reynolds was so remarkably deaf as to be under the necessity of using an ear-trumpet in company. POSTSCRIPT. AFTER the fourth edition of this poem was printed, the publisher received the following epitaph on Mr. Whitefoord1, from a friend of the late Dr. Goldsmith. HERE Whitefoord reclines, and deny it who can, 1 Mr. Caleb Whitefoord, author of many humorous essays. * Mr. W. was so notorious a punster, that Dr. Goldsmith used to say it was impossible to keep him company, without being infected with the itch of panning. A Scotchman, from pride and from prejudice free; A scholar, yet surely no pedant was he. What pity, alas! that so lib'ral a mind Should so long be to newspaper essays confin'd! Ye newspaper witlings! ye pert scribbling folks!. wit: 1 Mr. H. S. Woodfall, printer of the Public Advertiser. • Mr. Whitefoord has frequently indulged the town with humorous pieces under those titles in the Public Advertiser. G This debt to thy mem'ry I cannot refuse, "Thou best humour'd man with the worst humour'd muse1." To this POSTSCRIPT the Reader may not be displeased to find added the following POETICAL EPISTLE TO DR. GOLDSMITH, OR, SUPPLEMENT TO HIS RETALIATION. [FROM THE GENTLEMAN'S MAGAZINE FOR AUGUST, 1778.) DOCTOR, according to our wishes, Of various emblematic meat: And now it's time, I trust, you'll think To Douglas, fraught with learned stock Of critic lore, give ancient hock; Let it be genuine, bright, and fine, Pure unadulterated wine; For if there's fault in taste, or odour, He'll search it, as he search'd out Lauder. To Johnson, philosophic sage, The moral Mentor of the age, |