Chorus.

On the grave of Augusta this garland be placed,
We'll rifle the spring of its earliest bloom,
And there shall the cowslip and primrose be cast,
The tears of her country shall water her tomb.

ANSWER TO AN INVITATION TO BARTON,
THE RESIDENCE OF HENRY BUNBURY, ESQ.*

First let me suppose, what may shortly be true,
The company set, and the word to be-loo;
All smirking and pleasant, and big with adventure,
And ogling the stake which is fix'd in the centre.
Round and round go the cards, while I inwardly damn,
At never once finding a visit from pam.

I lay down my stake, apparently cool,

While the harpies about me all pocket the pool.

I fret in my gizzard—yet, cautious and sly, I wish all my friends may be bolder than I: Yet still they sit snug; not a creature will aim, By losing their money, to venture at fame. 'Tis in vain that at niggardly caution I scold, 'Tis in vain that I flatter the brave and the bold, All play their own way, and they think me an ass: "What does Mrs Bunbury?"-" I, sir? I pass." "Pray, what does Miss Horneck? Take courage; come, do!"

Who, I? Let me see, sir; why I must pass too."

* From the "Correspondence of Sir Thomas Hanmer, Bart., 1838." The above lines were written about the year 1772, in answer to a versified invitation from Mrs Bunbury to pass the Christmas at Barton, and take the advice of herself and sister in playing at loo. The Fielding of the "Answer" is Sir John Fielding, Justice for Westminster, and half-brother of the novelist: the Sir Charles is Sir Thomas Charles Bunbury, Mr Bunbury's elder brother.

Mr Bunbury frets, and I fret like the devil,
To see them so cowardly, lucky, and civil;
Yet still I sit snug, and continue to sigh on,
Till, made by my losses as bold as a lion,

I venture at all; while my avarice regards

The whole pool as my own. 66 Come, give me five cards."
"Well done!" cry the ladies; "ah! doctor, that's good-
The pool's very rich. Ah! the doctor is loo'd."
Thus foil'd in my courage, on all sides perplex'd,
I ask for advice from the lady that's next.
“Pray, maʼam, be so good as to give your advice;
Don't you think the best way is to venture for't twice?"
"I advise," cries the lady, "to try it, I own;-
Ah! the doctor is loo'd: come, doctor, put down."
Thus playing and playing, I still grow more eager,
And so bold, and so bold, I'm at last a bold beggar.
Now, ladies, I ask-if law matters you're skill'd in-
Whether crimes such as yours should not come before
Fielding;

For giving advice that is not worth a straw

May well be call'd picking of pockets in law,

And picking of pockets, with which I now charge ye,

Is by quinto Elizabeth-death without clergy.

What justice! when both to the Old Bailey brought;
By the Gods! I'll enjoy it, though 'tis but in thought.
Both are placed at the bar with all proper decorum,
With bunches of fennel and nosegays before 'em;
Both cover their faces with mobs and all that,
But the judge bids them, angrily, take off their hat.
When uncover'd, a buzz of inquiry runs round:

"Pray, what are their crimes?"-"They've been pilfering found."

แ But, pray, who have they pilfer'd ?"-"A doctor, I

hear."

"What, yon solemn-faced, odd-looking man that stands near?".

"The same." "What a pity! How it does surprise one: Two handsomer culprits I never set eyes on."

Then their friends all come round me, with cringing and

leering,

To melt me to pity, and soften my swearing.

First, Sir Charles advances with phrases well strung:"Consider, dear doctor, the girls are but young." "The younger the worse," I return him again; "It shows that their habits are all dyed in grain." "But then they're so handsome; one's bosom it grieves." "What signifies handsome, when people are thieves?" But where is your justice? their cases are hard." "What signifies justice? I want the reward."

"There's the parish of Edmonton offers forty pounds-there's the parish of St Leonard, Shoreditch, offers forty pounds-there's the parish of Tyburn, from the Hog-in-thepound to St Giles' Watch-house, offers forty pounds: I shall have all that if I convict them."

"But consider their case, it may yet be your own;

And see how they kneel: is your heart made of stone?"
This moves: so, at last, I agree to relent

For ten pounds in hand and ten pounds to be spent.

I challenge you to answer all this. I tell you, you cannot: it cuts deep. But now for the rest of the letter; and next --but I want room-so I believe I shall battle the rest out at Barton some day next week.

I don't value you all!

O. G.

SONG:

INTENDED TO HAVE BEEN SUNG IN THE COMEDY OF

66 SHE STOOPS TO CONQUER."

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 nor a smile shall my passion discover;
She that gives all to the false one pursuing her,
Makes but a penitent, loses a lover.

SONG.*

Let schoolmasters puzzle their brain,

With grammar, and nonsense, and learning, Good liquor, I stoutly maintain,

Gives genus a better discerning.

Let them brag of their heathenish gods,

Their Lethes, their Styxes, and Stygians, Their quis, and their quas, and their quods, They're all but a parcel of pigeons.

Toroddle, toroddle, toroll.

When Methodist preachers come down,
A-preaching that drinking is sinful,
I'll wager the rascals a crown

They always preach best with a skinful:
But when you come down with your pence
For a slice of their scurvy religion,

I'll leave it to all men of sense

But you, my good friend, are the pigeon.

Toroddle, toroddle, toroll.

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.

Toroddle, toroddle, toroll.

*From "She Stoops to Conquer," 1773.

RETALIATION:

A POEM.*

Of old, when Scarròn 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 deant shall be venison, just fresh from the plains;
Our Burke‡ shall be tongue, with a garnish of brains;
Our Wills shall be wild-fowl of excellent flavour;
And Dick|| with his pepper shall heighten the savour;
Our Cumberland's ¶ sweet-bread its place shall obtain;
And Douglas** is pudding substantial and plain;
Our Garrick'stt a salad-for in him we see
Oil, vinegar, sugar, and saltness agree.

To make out the dinner, full certain I am,

That Ridge is anchovy, and Reynolds§§ is lamb;

* First published on the 18th April, 1774, a fortnight after the author's death. From the Postscript which first appeared in the fifth edition, it would seem to have been Goldsmith's intention to have extended his plan.

The incident in which the poem originated is well known. Goldsmith and some of his friends of the Literary Club occasionally dined at the St James' Coffee-house. One day it was proposed to write characters of him in the shape of epitaphs. Dean Barnard, Cumberland, Garrick, and others complied. He was called on for "Retaliation," and produced, at the next meeting, the poem afterwards so called.

+ Doctor Bernard, dean of Derry, in Ireland.

The Right Hon. Edmund Burke.

§ William Burke, a kinsman of Edmund Burke.

|| Richard Burke, collector of Granada, a younger brother of Edmund.

Richard Cumberland, author of the "West Indian," "Fashionable Lover," "The Brothers," and various other productions.

** Dr Douglas, bishop of Salisbury. He died at Windsor in 1807. + David Garrick, the incomparable actor.

Counsellor John Ridge, a gentleman belonging to the Irish bar. §§ Sir Joshua Reynolds.