



Produced by Amy E Zelmer, Barb Grow, Derek Thompson and David Widger









THE COMPLETE POETICAL WORKS OF OLIVER GOLDSMITH


By Oliver Goldsmith (Sir Joshua Reynolds)

Oxford Edition


Edited with Introduction and Note by Austin Dobson



PREFATORY NOTE

This volume is a reprint, extended and revised, of the Selected Poems
of Goldsmith issued by the Clarendon Press in 1887. It is 'extended,'
because it now contains the whole of Goldsmith's poetry: it is 'revised'
because, besides the supplementary text, a good deal has been added in
the way of annotation and illustration. In other words, the book has
been substantially enlarged. Of the new editorial material, the bulk
has been collected at odd times during the last twenty years; but fresh
Goldsmith facts are growing rare. I hope I have acknowledged obligation
wherever it has been incurred; I trust also, for the sake of those
who come after me, that something of my own will be found to have been
contributed to the literature of the subject.

AUSTIN DOBSON.

Ealing, September, 1906.



CONTENTS

Introduction Chronology of Goldsmith's Life and Poems

POEMS Descriptive Poems The Traveller; or, A Prospect of Society page 3
The Deserted Village page 23 Lyrical and Miscellaneous Pieces Prologue
of Laberius page 41 On a Beautiful Youth struck Blind with Lightning
page 42 The Gift. To Iris, in Bow Street page 43 The Logicians Refuted
page 44 A Sonnet page 46 Stanzas on the Taking of Quebec page 46 An
Elegy on Mrs. Mary Blaize page 47 Description of an Author's Bedchamber
page 48 On seeing Mrs. *** perform in the Character of **** page 49
On the Death of the Right Hon.*** page 50 An Epigram. Addressed to the
Gentlemen reflected on in 'The Rosciad', a Poem, by the Author page 51
To G. C. and R. L. page 51 Translation of a South American Ode page 51
The Double Transformation. A Tale page 52 A New Simile, in the Manner of
Swift page 56 Edwin and Angelina page 59 Elegy on the Death of a Mad Dog
page 65 Song ('When Lovely Woman,' etc.) page 67 Epilogue to The Good
Natur'd Man page 68 Epilogue to The Sister page 70 Prologue to Zobeide
page 72 Threnodia Augustalis: Sacred to the Memory of Her Late
Royal Highness the Princess Dowager of Wales page 74 Song ('Let
school-masters,' etc.) page 84 Epilogue to She Stoops to Conquer page
85 Retaliation page 87 Song ('Ah, me! when shall I marry me?') page 94
Translation ('Chaste are their instincts') page 94

page v



The Haunch of Venison page 95 Epitaph on Thomas Parnell page 100 The
Clown's Reply page 100 Epitaph on Edward Purdon page 100 Epilogue for
Lee Lewes page 101 Epilogue written for She Stoops to Conquer (1)
page 103 Epilogue written for She Stoops to Conquer (2) page 108 The
Captivity. An Oratorio Verses in Reply to an Invitation to Dinner page
128 Letter in Prose and Verse to Mrs. Bunbury page 130 Vida's Game of
Chess page 135

NOTES Introduction to the Notes page 159 Editions of the Poems page
161 The Traveller page 162 The Deserted Village page 177 Prologue of
Laberius page 190 On a Beautiful Youth struck Blind with Lightning page
192 The Gift page 193 The Logicians Refuted page 194 A Sonnet page 196
Stanzas on the Taking of Quebec page 196 An Elegy on Mrs. Mary Blaize
page 197 Description of an Author's Bedchamber page 199 On seeing Mrs.
*** perform in the Character of **** page 202 On the Death of the
Right Hon. *** page 202 An Epigram page 203 To G. C. and R. L. page 203
Translation of a South American Ode page 203 The Double Transformation
page 203 A New Simile page 205 Edwin and Angelina page 206 Elegy on the
Death of a Mad Dog page 212 Song (from The Vicar of Wakefield) page 213
Epilogue (The Good Natur'd Man) page 214 Epilogue (The Sister) page 215
Prologue (Zobeide) page 216 Threnodia Augustalis page 218 Song (from She
Stoops to Conquer) page 219

page vi



Epilogue (She Stoops to Conquer) page 220 Retaliation page 222 Song
intended for She Stoops to Conquer page 235 Translation page 236 The
Haunch of Venison page 236 Epitaph on Thomas Parnell page 243 The
Clown's Reply page 244 Epitaph on Edward Purdon page 244 Epilogue for
Lee Lewes's Benefit page 245 Epilogue (She Stoops to Conquer) (1) page
246 Epilogue (She Stoops to Conquer) (2) page 248 The Captivity page 249
Verses in Reply to an Invitation to Dinner page 250 Letter in Prose and
Verse to Mrs. Bunbury page 252 Vida's Game of Chess page 255

APPENDIXES Portraits of Goldsmith page 259 Descriptions of Newell's
Views of Lissoy, etc. page 262 The Epithet 'Sentimental' page 264
Fragments of Translations, etc., by Goldsmith page 266 Goldsmith
on Poetry under Anne and George the First page 268 Criticisms from
Goldsmith's Beauties of English Poesy page 270

page vii



LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS OLIVER GOLDSMITH. From Joseph Marchi's mezzotint
of 1770 after the portrait by Sir Joshua Reynolds. PANE OF GLASS with
Goldsmith's autograph signature, dated March, 1746, now at Trinity
College, Dublin. VIGNETTE TO THE TRAVELLER. Drawn by Samuel Wale, and
engraved by Charles Grignion. HEADPIECE TO THE TRAVELLER. Engraved on
wood by Charlton Nesbit for Bulmer's Poems of Goldsmith and Parnell,
1795. THE TRAVELLER. From a design by Richard Westall, R. A., engraved
on wood by Thomas Bewick for Bulmer's Poems of Goldsmith and Parnell,
1795. VIGNETTE TO THE DESERTED VILLAGE, 1770. Drawn and engraved by
Isaac Taylor. HEADPIECE TO THE DESERTED VILLAGE. Engraved on wood by
Charlton Nesbit for Bulmer's Poems of Goldsmith and Parnell, 1795. THE
WATER-CRESS GATHERER. Drawn and engraved on wood by John Bewick
for Bulmer's Poems of Goldsmith and Parnell, 1795. {This picture is
unavailable.] THE DEPARTURE. Drawn by Robert Johnson, and engraved on
wood by Thomas Bewick for Bulmer's Poems of Goldsmith and Parnell,
1795. EDWIN AND ANGELINA. From an original washed drawing made by Thomas
Stothard, R.A., for Aikin's Goldsmith's Poetical Works, 1805. PORTRAIT
OF GOLDSMITH, after Sir Joshua Reynolds. From an etching by James
Basire on the title-page of Retaliation, 1774. SONG FROM THE CAPTIVITY.
Facsimile of Goldsmith's writing and signature, from Prior's Life of
Oliver Goldsmith, M.B., 1837, ii, frontispiece. GREEN ARBOUR COURT, OLD
BAILEY. From an engraving in the European Magazine for January, 1803.

page viii



KILKENNY WEST CHURCH. From an aquatint by S. Alken of a sketch by R. H.
Newell (Goldsmith's Poetical Works, 1811). HAWTHORN TREE. From the same.
SOUTH VIEW FROM GOLDSMITH'S MOUNT. From the same . . . To face p. 183.
[This picture is unavailable.] THE SCHOOL HOUSE. From the same. PORTRAIT
OF GOLDSMITH. Drawn by Henry William Bunbury and etched by James
Bretherton. From the Haunch of Venison, 1776. PORTRAIT OF GOLDSMITH.
From a silhouette by Ozias Humphry, R.A., in the National Portrait
Gallery. LISSOY (OR LISHOY) MILL. From an aquatint by S. Alken of
a sketch by R. H. Newell (Goldsmith's Poetical Works, 1811). THE
PARSONAGE. From the same.

Introduction

Poetical Works of Goldsmith / Contents / Chronology /


page ix



INTRODUCTION

Two of the earlier, and, in some respects, more important Memoirs of
Oliver Goldsmith open with a quotation from one of his minor works, in
which he refers to the generally uneventful life of the scholar. His own
chequered career was a notable exception to this rule. He was born
on the 10th of November, 1728, at Pallas, a village in the county of
Longford in Ireland, his father, the Rev. Charles Goldsmith, being a
clergyman of the Established Church. Oliver was the fifth of a family
of five sons and three daughters. In 1730, his father, who had been
assisting the rector of the neighbouring parish of Kilkenny West,
succeeded to that living, and moved to Lissoy, a hamlet in Westmeath,
lying a little to the right of the road from Ballymahon to Athlone.
Educated first by a humble relative named Elizabeth Delap, the
boy passed subsequently to the care of Thomas Byrne, the village
schoolmaster, an old soldier who had fought Queen Anne's battles in
Spain, and had retained from those experiences a wandering and unsettled
spirit, which he is thought to have communicated to one at least of his
pupils. After an attack of confluent small-pox, which scarred him for
life, Oliver was transferred from the care of this not-uncongenial
preceptor to a school at Elphin. From Elphin he passed to Athlone; from
Athlone to Edgeworthstown, where he remained until he was thirteen
or fourteen years of age. The accounts of these early days are
contradictory. By his schoolfellows he seems to have been regarded as
stupid and heavy,'little better than a fool'; but they

notes

page x



admitted that he was remarkably active and athletic, and that he was
an adept in all boyish sports. At home, notwithstanding a variable
disposition, and occasional fits of depression, he showed to greater
advantage. He scribbled verses early; and sometimes startled those
about him by unexpected 'swallow- flights' of repartee. One of these, an
oft-quoted retort to a musical friend who had likened his awkward antics
in a hornpipe to the dancing of Aesop,

Heralds! proclaim aloud! all saying, See Aesop dancing, and his monkey
playing,

reads more like a happily-adapted recollection than the actual impromptu
of a boy of nine. But another, in which, after a painful silence, he
replied to the brutal enquiry of a ne'er-do-well relative as to when he
meant to grow handsome, by saying that he would do so when the speaker
grew good,is characteristic of the easily-wounded spirit and 'exquisite
sensibility of contempt' with which he was to enter upon the battle of
life.

In June, 1744, after anticipating in his own person, the plot of
his later play of She Stoops to Conquer by mistaking the house of a
gentleman at Ardagh for an inn, he was sent to Trinity College, Dublin.
The special dress and semi-menial footing of a sizar or poor scholarfor
his father, impoverished by the imprudent portioning of his eldest
daughter, could not afford to make him a pensionerwere scarcely
calculated to modify his personal peculiarities. Added to these, his
tutor elect, Dr. Theaker Wilder, was a violent and vindictive man, with
whom his ungainly and unhopeful pupil found little favour. Wilder had a
passion for mathematics which was not shared by Goldsmith, who, indeed,
spoke contemptuously enough of that science in after life. He could,
however, he told Malone, 'turn an Ode of Horace into English better than
any of them.' But his academic career was not a success.

notes

page xi



Goldsmith's Autograph PANE OF GLASS WITH GOLDSMITH'S AUTOGRAPH (Trinity
College, Dublin)

In May, 1747, the year in which his father died,an event that further
contracted his already slender means,he became involved in a college
riot, and was publicly admonished. From this disgrace he recovered
to some extent in the following month by obtaining a trifling money
exhibition, a triumph which he unluckily celebrated by a party at his
rooms. Into these festivities, the heinousness of which was aggravated
by the fact that they included guests of both sexes, the exasperated
Wilder made irruption, and summarily terminated the proceedings by
knocking down the host. The disgrace was too much for the poor lad. He
forthwith sold his books and belongings, and ran away, vaguely bound for
America. But after considerable privations, including the achievement
of a destitution so complete that a handful of grey peas, given him by
a girl at a wake, seemed a banquet, he turned his steps homeward, and,
a reconciliation having been patched up with his tutor, he was received
once more at college. In February, 1749, he took his degree, a low one,
as B.A., and quitted the university, leaving behind him, for relics of
that time, a scratched signature upon a window-pane, a folio Scapula
scored liberally with 'promises to pay,' and a reputation for much
loitering at the college gates in the study of passing humanity. Another
habit which his associates recalled was his writing of ballads when in
want of funds. These he would sell at five shillings apiece; and
would afterwards steal out in the twilight to hear them sung to the
indiscriminate but applauding audience of the Dublin streets.

What was to be done with a genius so unstable, so erratic? Nothing,
apparently, but to let him qualify for orders, and for this he is too
young. Thereupon ensues a sort of 'Martin's summer' in his changing
life,a disengaged, delightful time when 'Master Noll' wanders

notes

page xii



irresponsibly from house to house, fishing and flute-playing, or, of
winter evenings, taking the chair at the village inn. When at last the
moment came for his presentation to the Bishop of Elphin, that prelate,
sad to say, rejected him, perhaps because of his college reputation,
perhaps because of actual incompetence, perhaps even, as tradition
affirms, because he had the bad taste to appear before his examiner in
flaming scarlet breeches. After this rebuff, tutoring was next tried.
But he had no sooner saved some thirty pounds by teaching, than he threw
up his engagement, bought a horse, and started once more for America, by
way of Cork. In six weeks he had returned penniless, having substituted
for his roadster a sorry jade, to which he gave the contemptuous name of
Fiddleback. He had also the simplicity to wonder, on this occasion, that
his mother was not rejoiced to see him again. His next ambition was to
be a lawyer; and, to this end, a kindly Uncle Contarine equipped him
with fifty pounds for preliminary studies. But on his way to London he
was decoyed into gambling, lost every farthing, and came home once more
in bitter self-abasement. Having now essayed both divinity and law,
his next attempt was physic; and, in 1752, fitted out afresh by his
long-suffering uncle, he started for, and succeeded in reaching,
Edinburgh. Here more memories survive of his social qualities than
of his studies; and two years later he left the Scottish capital for
Leyden, rather, it may be conjectured, from a restless desire to see the
world than really to exchange the lectures of Monro for the lectures
of Albinus. At Newcastle (according to his own account) he had the good
fortune to be locked up as a Jacobite, and thus escaped drowning, as the
ship by which he was to have sailed to Bordeaux sank at the mouth of
the Garonne. Shortly afterwards he arrived in Leyden. Gaubius and other
Dutch professors figure

page xiii



sonorously in his future works; but whether he had much experimental
knowledge of their instructions may be doubted. What seems undeniable
is, that the old seduction of play stripped him of every shilling; so
that, like Holberg before him, he set out deliberately to make the tour
of Europe on foot. Haud inexpertus loquor, he wrote in after days, when
praising this mode of locomotion. He first visited Flanders. Thence he
passed to France, Germany, Switzerland, and Italy, supporting himself
mainly by his flute, and by occasional disputations at convents or
universities. 'Sir,' said Boswell to Johnson, 'he disputed his passage
through Europe.' When on the 1st February, 1756, he landed at Dover, it
was with empty pockets. But he had sent home to his brother in Ireland
his first rough sketch for the poem of The Traveller.

He was now seven-and-twenty. He had seen and suffered much, but he
was to have further trials before drifting definitely into literature.
Between Dover and London, it has been surmised, he made a tentative
appearance as a strolling player. His next ascertained part was that
of an apothecary's assistant on Fish Street Hill. From this, with
the opportune aid of an Edinburgh friend, he proceededto use an
eighteenth-century phrasea poor physician in the Bankside, Southwark,
where least of all, perhaps, was London's fabled pavement to be found.
So little of it, in fact, fell to Goldsmith's share, that we speedily
find him reduced to the rank of reader and corrector of the press to
Samuel Richardson, printer, of Salisbury Court, author of Clarissa.
Later still he is acting as help or substitute in Dr. Milner's
'classical academy' at Peckham. Here, at last, chance seemed to open
to him the prospect of a literary life. He had already, says report,
submitted a manuscript tragedy to Richardson's judgement; and something
he said at Dr. Milner's table attracted the attention of an occasional

notes

page xiv



visitor there, the bookseller Griffiths, who was also proprietor of
the Monthly Review. He invited Dr. Milner's usher to try his hand at
criticism; and finally, in April, 1757, Goldsmith was bound over for a
year to that venerable lady whom George Primrose dubs 'the antiqua mater
of Grub Street'in other words, he was engaged for bed, board, and a
fixed salary to supply copy-of- all-work to his master's magazine.

The arrangement thus concluded was not calculated to endure. After
some five months of labour from nine till two, and often later, it came
suddenly to an end. No clear explanation of the breach is forthcoming,
but mere incompatability of temper would probably supply a sufficient
ground for disagreement. Goldsmith, it is said, complained that the
bookseller and his wife treated him ill, and denied him ordinary
comforts; added to which the lady, a harder taskmistress even than the
antiqua mater above referred to, joined with her husband in 'editing'
his articles, a course which, hard though it may seem, is not
unprecedented. However this may be, either in September or October,
1757, he was again upon the world, existing precariously from hand
to mouth. 'By a very little practice as a physician, and very little
reputation as a poet [a title which, as Prior suggests, possibly means
no more than author], I make a shift to live.' So he wrote to his
brother-in-law in December. What his literary occupations were cannot be
definitely stated; but, if not prepared before, they probably included
the translation of a remarkable work issued by Griffiths and others in
the ensuing February. This was the Memoirs of a Protestant, condemned
to the Galleys of France for his Religion, being the authentic record
of the sufferings of one Jean Marteilhe of Bergerac, a book of which
Michelet has said that it is 'written as if between earth and heaven.'
Marteilhe, who died at Cuylenberg

page xv



in 1777, was living in Holland in 1758; and it may be that Goldsmith
had seen or heard of him during his own stay in that country. The
translation, however, did not bear Goldsmith's name, but that of
James Willington, one of his old class-fellows at Trinity College.
Nevertheless, Prior says distinctly that Griffiths (who should have
known) declared it to be by Goldsmith. Moreover, the French original
had been catalogued in Griffiths' magazine in the second month of
Goldsmith's servitude, a circumstance which colourably supplies the
reason for its subsequent rendering into English.

The publication of Marteilhe's Memoirs had no influence upon Goldsmith's
fortunes, for, in a short time, he was again installed at Peckham, in
place of Dr. Milner invalided, waiting hopefully for the fulfilment of
a promise by his old master to procure him a medical appointment on a
foreign station. It is probably that, with a view to provide the needful
funds for this expatriation, he now began to sketch the little volume
afterwards published under the title of An Enquiry into the Present
State of Polite Learning in Europe, for towards the middle of the year
we find him addressing long letters to his relatives in Ireland to
enlist their aid in soliciting subscriptions for this book. At length
the desired advancement was obtained,a nomination as a physician
and surgeon to one of the factories on the coast of Coromandel. But
banishment to the East Indies was not to be his destiny. For some
unexplained reason the project came to nothing; and thenlike Roderick
Randomhe presented himself at Surgeons' Hall for the more modest office
of a hospital mate. This was on the 21st of December, 1758. The curt
official record states that he was 'found not qualified.' What made
matters worse, the necessity for a decent appearance before the
examiners had involved him in new obligations to Griffiths,

notes

page xvi



out of which arose fresh difficulties. To pay his landlady, whose
husband was arrested for debt, he pawned the suit he had procured by
Griffiths' aid; and he also raised money on some volumes which had
been sent him for review. Thereupon ensued an angry and humiliating
correspondence with the bookseller, as a result of which Griffiths,
nevertheless, appears to have held his hand.

By this time Goldsmith had moved into those historic but now non-
existent lodgings in 12 Green Arbour Court, Old Bailey, which have been
photographed for ever in Irving's Tales of a Traveller. It was here that
the foregoing incidents took place; and it was here also that, early in
1759, 'in a wretched dirty room, in which there was but one chair,' the
Rev. Thomas Percy, afterwards Bishop of Dromore, found him composing
(or more probably correcting the proofs of) The Enquiry. 'At least spare
invective 'till my book with Mr. Dodsley shall be publish'd,'he had
written not long before to the irate Griffiths'and then perhaps you may
see the bright side of a mind when my professions shall not appear the
dictates of necessity but of choice.' The Enquiry came out on the 2nd of
April. It had no author's name, but it was an open secret that Goldsmith
had written it; and to this day it remains to the critic one of the most
interesting of his works. Obviously, in a duodecimo of some two hundred
widely-printed pages, it was impossible to keep the high-sounding
promise of its title; and at best its author's knowledge of the subject,
notwithstanding his continental wanderings, can have been but that of
an external spectator. Still in an age when critical utterance was more
than ordinarily full-wigged and ponderous, it dared to be sprightly
and epigrammatic. Some of its passages, besides, bear upon the writer's
personal experiences, and serve to piece the imperfections of his
biography. If it brought him no sudden wealth,

notes

page xvii



it certainly raised his reputation with the book- selling world. A
connexion already begun with Smollett's Critical Review was drawn
closer; and the shrewd Sosii of the Row began to see the importance of
securing so vivacious and unconventional a pen. Towards the end of
the year he was writing for Wilkie the collection of periodical essays
entitled The Bee; and contributing to the same publisher's Lady's
Magazine, as well as to The Busy Body of one Pottinger. In these, more
than ever, he was finding his distinctive touch; and ratifying anew,
with every fresh stroke of his pen, his bondage to authorship as a
calling.

He had still, however, to conquer the public. The Bee, although it
contains one of his most characteristic essays ('A City Night-Piece'),
and some of the most popular of his lighter verses ('The Elegy on Mrs.
Mary Blaize'), never attained the circulation essential to healthy
existence. It closed with its eighth number in November, 1759. In the
following month two gentlemen called at Green Arbour Court to enlist the
services of its author. One was Smollett, with a new serial, The British
Magazine; the other was Johnson's 'Jack Whirler,' bustling Mr. John
Newbery from the 'Bible and Sun' in St. Paul's Churchyard, with a new
daily newspaper, The Public Ledger. For Smollett, Goldsmith wrote the
'Reverie at the Boar's Head Tavern' and the 'Adventures of a Strolling
Player,' besides a number of minor papers. For Newbery, by a happy
recollection of the Lettres Persanes of Montesquieu, or some of his
imitators, he struck almost at once into that charming epistolary
series, brimful of fine observation, kindly satire, and various fancy,
which was ultimately to become the English classic known as The Citizen
of the World. He continued to produce these letters periodically until
the August of the following year, when they were

notes

page xviii



announced for republication in 'two volumes of the usual Spectator
size.' In this form they appeared in May, 1762.

But long before this date a change for the better had taken place in
Goldsmith's life. Henceforth he was sure of work,mere journey-
work though much of it must have been;and, had his nature been less
improvident, of freedom from absolute want. The humble lodgings in the
Old Bailey were discarded for new premises at No. 6 Wine Office Court,
Fleet Street; and here, on the 31st of May, 1761, with Percy, came one
whose name was often in the future to be associated with Goldsmith's,
the great Dictator of London literary society, Samuel Johnson. Boswell,
who made Johnson's acquaintance later, has not recorded the humours of
that supper; but it marks the beginning of Goldsmith's friendship
with the man who of all others (Reynolds excepted) loved him most and
understood him best.

During the remainder of 1761 he continued busily to ply his pen. Besides
his contributions to The Ledger and The British Magazine, he edited The
Lady's Magazine, inserting in it the Memoirs of Voltaire, drawn up some
time earlier to accompany a translation of the Henriade by his crony and
compatriot Edward Purdon. Towards the beginning of 1762 he was hard at
work on several compilations for Newbery, for whom he wrote or edited
a History of Mecklenburgh, and a series of monthly volumes of an
abridgement of Plutarch's Lives. In October of the same year was
published the Life of Richard Nash, apparently the outcome of special
holiday-visits to the then fashionable watering-place of Bath, whence
its fantastic old Master of the Ceremonies had only very lately made
his final exit. It is a pleasantly gossiping, and not unedifying little
book, which still holds a respectable place among its author's minor
works. But a recently discovered entry in an old ledger shows that
during the latter half

page xix



of 1762 he must have planned, if he had not, indeed, already in part
composed, a far more important effort, The Vicar of Wakefield. For
on the 28th of October in this year he sold to one Benjamin Collins,
printer, of Salisbury, for 21 pounds, a third in a work with that title,
further described as '2 vols. 12mo.' How this little circumstance,
discovered by Mr. Charles Welsh when preparing his Life of John Newbery,
is to be brought into agreement with the time-honoured story, related
(with variations) by Boswell and others, to the effect that Johnson
negotiated the sale of the manuscript for Goldsmith when the latter
was arrested for rent by his incensed landladyhas not yet been
satisfactorily suggested. Possibly the solution is a simple one,
referable to some of those intricate arrangements favoured by 'the
Trade' at a time when not one but half a score publishers' names figured
in an imprint. At present, the fact that Collins bought a third share
of the book from the author for twenty guineas, and the statement that
Johnson transferred the entire manuscript to a bookseller for
sixty pounds, seem irreconcilable. That The Vicar of Wakefield was
nevertheless written, or was being written, in 1762, is demonstrable
from internal evidence.

About Christmas in the same year Goldsmith moved into lodgings at
Islington, his landlady being one Mrs. Elizabeth Fleming, a friend of
Newbery, to whose generalship this step seems attributable. From the
curious accounts printed by Prior and Forster, it is clear that the
publisher was Mrs. Fleming's paymaster, punctually deducting his
disbursements from the account current between himself and Goldsmith,
an arrangement which as plainly indicates the foresight of the one as it
implies the improvidence of the other. Of the work which Goldsmith
did for the businesslike and not unkindly little man, there is no very
definite evidence; but various prefaces,

notes

page xx



introductions, and the like, belong to this time; and he undoubtedly was
the author of the excellent History of England in a Series of Letters
addressed by a Nobleman to his Son, published anonymously in June,
1764, and long attributed, for the grace of its style, to Lyttelton,
Chesterfield, Orrery, and other patrician pens. Meanwhile his range of
acquaintance was growing larger. The establishment, at the beginning of
1764, of the famous association known afterwards as the 'Literary Club'
brought him into intimate relations with Beauclerk, Reynolds, Langton,
Burke, and others. Hogarth, too, is said to have visited him at
Islington, and to have painted the portrait of Mrs. Fleming. Later in
the same year, incited thereto by the success of Christopher Smart's
Hannah, he wrote the Oratorio of The Captivity, now to be found in
most editions of his poems, but never set to music. Then after the slow
growth of months, was issued on the 19th December the elaboration of
that fragmentary sketch which he had sent years before to his brother
Henry from the Continent, the poem entitled The Traveller; or, A
Prospect of Society.

In the notes appended to The Traveller in the present volume, its origin
and progress are sufficiently explained. Its success was immediate and
enduring. The beauty of the descriptive passages, the subtle simplicity
of the language, the sweetness and finish of the versification, found
ready admirers,perhaps all the more because of the contrast they
afforded to the rough and strenuous sounds with which Charles Churchill
had lately filled the public ear. Johnson, who contributed a few lines
at the close, proclaimed The Traveller to be the best poem since the
death of Pope; and it is certainly not easy to find its equal among
the works of contemporary bards. It at once raised Goldsmith from the
condition of a clever newspaper essayist, oras men like Sir John

page xxi



Hawkins would have saida mere 'bookseller's drudge,' to the foremost
rank among the poets of the day. Another result of its success was the
revival of some of his earlier work, which, however neglected by the
author, had been freely appropriated by the discerning pirate. In June,
1765, Griffin and Newbery published a little volume of Essays by Mr.
Goldsmith, including some of the best of his contributions to The Bee,
The Busy Body, The Public Ledger, and The British Magazine, besides 'The
Double Transformation' and 'The Logicians Refuted,' two pieces of
verse in imitation of Prior and Swift, which have not been traced to
an earlier source. To the same year belongs the first version of a poem
which he himself regarded as his best work, and which still retains
something of its former popularity. This was the ballad of Edwin and
Angelina, otherwise known as The Hermit. It originated in certain
metrical discussions with Percy, then engaged upon his famous Reliques
of English Poetry; and in 1765, Goldsmith, who through his friend
Nugent (afterwards Lord Clare) had made the acquaintance of the Earl of
Northumberland, printed it privately for the amusement of the Countess.
In a revised and amended form it was subsequently given to the world in
The Vicar of Wakefield.

With the exception of an abortive attempt to resume his practice as
a medical man,an attempt which seems to have been frustrated by the
preternatural strength of his prescriptions,the next memorable thing in
Goldsmith's life is the publication of The Vicar of Wakefield itself.
It made its appearance on the 27th of March, 1766. A second edition
followed in May, a third in August. Why, having been sold (in part) to
a Salisbury printer as far back as October, 1762, it had remained
unprinted so long; and why, when published, it was published by Francis
Newbery and not by John Newbery, Goldsmith's

page xxii



employer,are questions at present unsolved. But the charm of this
famous novel is as fresh as when it was first issued. Its inimitable
types, its happy mingling of Christianity and character, its wholesome
benevolence and its practical wisdom, are still unimpaired. We smile at
the inconsistencies of the plot; but we are carried onward in spite of
them, captivated by the grace, the kindliness, the gentle humour of
the story. Yet it is a mistake to suppose that its success was
instantaneous. Pirated it was, of course; but, according to expert
investigations, the authorized edition brought so little gain to its
first proprietors that the fourth issue of 1770 started with a loss. The
fifth, published in April, 1774, was dated 1773; and had apparently been
withheld because the previous edition, which consisted of no more than
one thousand copies, was not exhausted. Five years elapsed before the
sixth edition made its tardy appearance in 1779. These facts show that
the writer's contemporaries were not his most eager readers. But he has
long since appealed to the wider audience of posterity; and his fame is
not confined to his native country, for he has been translated into
most European languages. Dr. Primrose and his family are now veritable
'citizens of the world.'

A selection of Poems for Young Ladies, in the 'Moral' division of which
he included his own Edwin and Angelina; two volumes of Beauties of
English Poesy, disfigured with strange heedlessness, by a couple of the
most objectionable pieces of Prior; a translation of a French history of
philosophy, and other occasional work, followed the publication of
the Vicar. But towards the middle of 1766, he was meditating a new
experiment in that line in which Farquhar, Steele, Southerne, and others
of his countrymen had succeeded before him. A fervent lover of the
stage, he detested the vapid and colourless 'genteel'

notes

page xxiii



comedy which had gradually gained ground in England; and he determined
to follow up The Clandestine Marriage, then recently adapted by Colman
and Garrick from Hogarth's Marriage A-la-Mode, with another effort of
the same class, depending exclusively for its interest upon humour and
character. Early in 1767 it was completed, and submitted to Garrick
for Drury Lane. But Garrick perhaps too politic to traverse the popular
taste, temporized; and eventually after many delays and disappointments,
The Good Natur'd Man, as it was called, was produced at Covent Garden by
Colman on the 29th of January, 1768. Its success was only partial; and
in deference to the prevailing craze for the 'genteel,' an admirable
scene of low humour had to be omitted in the representation. But the
piece, notwithstanding, brought the author 400 pounds, to which the sale
of the book, with the condemned passages restored, added another 100
pounds. Furthermore, Johnson, whose 'Suspirius' in The Rambler was,
under the name of 'Croaker,' one of its most prominent personages,
pronounced it to be the best comedy since Cibber's Provok'd Husband.

During the autumn of 1767, Goldsmith had again been living at Islington.
On this occasion he had a room in Canonbury Tower, Queen Elizabeth's old
hunting-lodge, and perhaps occupied the very chamber generally used by
John Newbery, whose active life was, in this year, to close. When in
London he had modest housing in the Temple. But the acquisition of 500
pounds for The Good Natur'd Man seemed to warrant a change of residence,
and he accordingly expended four-fifths of that sum for the lease
of three rooms on the second floor of No. 2 Brick Court, which he
straightway proceeded to decorate sumptuously with mirrors, Wilton
carpets, moreen curtains, and Pembroke tables. It was an unfortunate
step; and he would have done well to remember the Nil

page xxiv



te quaesiveris extra with which his inflexible monitor, Johnson, had
greeted his apologies for the shortcomings of some earlier lodgings.
One of its natural results was to involve him in a new sequence of
task-work, from which he never afterwards shook himself free. Hence,
following hard upon a Roman History which he had already engaged to
write for Davies of Russell Street, came a more ambitious project for
Griffin, A History of Animated Nature; and after this again, another
History of England for Davies. The pay was not inadequate; for the first
he was to have 250 guineas, for the second 800 guineas, and for the
last 500 pounds. But as employment for the author of a unique novel, an
excellent comedy, and a deservedly successful poem, it was surelyin his
own words'to cut blocks with a razor.'

And yet, apart from the anxieties of growing money troubles, his life
could not have been wholly unhappy. There are records of pleasant
occasional junketings'shoe-maker's holidays' he called themin the
still countrified suburbs of Hampstead and Edgware; there was the
gathering at the Turk's Head, with its literary magnates, for
his severer hours; and for his more pliant moments, the genial
'free-and-easy' or shilling whist-club of a less pretentious kind, where
the student of mixed character might shine with something of the old
supremacy of George Conway's inn at Ballymahon. And there must have been
quieter and more chastened resting-places of memory, when, softening
towards the home of his youth, with a sadness made more poignant by the
death of his brother Henry in May, 1768, he planned and perfected his
new poem of The Deserted Village.

In December, 1769, the recent appointment of his friend Reynolds as
President of the Royal Academy brought him the honorary office of
Professor of History to that

page xxv



institution; and to Reynolds The Deserted Village was dedicated.
It appeared on the 26th of May, 1770, with a success equal, if not
superior, to that of The Traveller. It ran through five editions in the
year of its publication; and has ever since retained its reputation. If,
as alleged, contemporary critics ranked it below its predecessor, the
reason advanced by Washington Irving, that the poet had become his own
rival, is doubtless correct; and there is always a prejudice in favour
of the first success. This, however, is not an obstacle which need
disturb the reader now; and he will probably decide that in grace and
tenderness of description The Deserted Village in no wise falls short
of The Traveller; and that its central idea, and its sympathy with
humanity, give it a higher value as a work of art.

After The Deserted Village had appeared, Goldsmith made a short trip
to Paris, in company with Mrs. and the two Miss Hornecks, the elder of
whom, christened by the poet with the pretty pet-name of 'The Jessamy
Bride,' is supposed to have inspired him with more than friendly
feelings. Upon his return he had to fall again to the old
'book-building' in order to recruit his exhausted finances. Since his
last poem he had published a short Life of Parnell; and Davies now
engaged him on a Life of Bolingbroke, and an abridgement of the Roman
History. Thus, with visits to friends, among others to Lord Clare, for
whom he wrote the delightful occasional verses called The Haunch of
Venison, the months wore on until, in December, 1770, the print-shops
began to be full of the well-known mezzotint which Marchi had engraved
from his portrait by Sir Joshua.

His chief publications in the next two years were the above-
mentioned History of England, 1771; Threnodia Augustalis, a poetical
lament-to-order on the death of the Princess Dowager of Wales, 1772; and
the abridgement

page xxvi



of the Roman History, 1772. But in the former year he had completed a
new comedy, She Stoops to Conquer; or, The Mistakes of a Night, which,
after the usual vexatious negotiations, was brought out by Colman at
Covent Garden on Monday, the 15th of March, 1773. The manager seems to
have acted Goldsmith's own creation of 'Croaker' with regard to this
piece, and even to the last moment predicted its failure. But it was a
brilliant success. More skilful in construction than The Good Natur'd
Man, more various in its contrasts of character, richer and stronger in
humour and vis comica, She Stoops to Conquer has continued to provide
an inexhaustible fund of laughter to more than three generations of
playgoers, and still bids fair to retain the character generally given
to it, of being one of the three most popular comedies upon the English
stage. When published, it was gratefully inscribed, in one of those
admirable dedications of which its author above all men possessed the
secret, to Johnson, who had befriended it from the first. 'I do not
mean,' wrote Goldsmith, 'so much to compliment you as myself. It may
do me some honour to inform the public, that I have lived many years in
intimacy with you. It may serve the interests of mankind also to
inform them, that the greatest wit may be found in a character, without
impairing the most unaffected piety.'

His gains from She Stoops to Conquer were considerable; but by this time
his affairs had reached a stage of complication which nothing short of
a miracle could disentangle; and there is reason for supposing that his
involved circumstances preyed upon his mind. During the few months
of life that remained to him he published nothing, being doubtless
sufficiently occupied by the undertakings to which he was already
committed. The last of his poetical efforts was the poem entitled

page xxvii



Retaliation, a group of epitaph- epigrams prompted by some similar jeux
d'esprit directed against himself by Garrick and other friends, and left
incomplete at his death. In March, 1774, the combined effects of work
and worry, added to a local disorder, brought on a nervous fever, which
he unhappily aggravated by the use of a patent medicine called 'James's
Powder.' He had often relied upon this before, but in the present
instance it was unsuited to his complaint. On Monday, the 4th of April,
1774, he died, in his forty-sixth year, and was buried on the 9th in the
burying-ground of the Temple Church. Two years later a monument, with a
medallion portrait by Nollekens, and a Latin inscription by Johnson,
was erected to him in Westminster Abbey, at the expense of the Literary
Club. But although the inscription contains more than one phrase of
felicitous discrimination, notably the oft-quoted affectuum potens, at
lenis dominator, it may be doubted whether the simpler words used by his
rugged old friend in a letter to Langton are not a fitter farewell to
Oliver Goldsmith,'Let not his frailties be remembered; he was a very
great man.'

In person Goldsmith was short and strongly built. His complexion was
rather fair, but he was deeply scarred with small- pox; andif we may
believe his own accountthe vicissitudes and privations of his early
life had not tended to diminish his initial disadvantages. 'You scarcely
can conceive,' he writes to his brother in 1759, 'how much eight years
of disappointment, anguish, and study, have worn me down. . . . Imagine
to yourself a pale melancholy visage, with two great wrinkles between
the eye-brows, with an eye disgustingly severe, and a big wig; and you
may have a perfect picture of my present appearance,' i.e. at thirty
years of age. 'I can neither laugh nor drink,' he goes on; 'have
contracted an hesitating, disagreeable manner of speaking, and a visage

notes

page xxviii



that looks ill-nature itself; in short, I have thought myself into a
settled melancholy, and an utter disgust of all that life brings with
it.' It is obvious that this description is largely  by passing
depression. 'His features,' says one contemporary, 'were plain, but not
repulsive,certainly not so when lighted up by conversation.' Another
witnessthe 'Jessamy Bride'declares that 'his benevolence was
unquestionable, and his countenance bore every trace of it.' His true
likeness would seem to lie midway between the grotesquely truthful
sketch by Bunbury prefixed in 1776 to the Haunch of Venison, and the
portrait idealized by personal regard, which Reynolds painted in 1770.
In this latter he is shown wearing, in place of his customary wig, his
own scant brown hair, and, on this occasion, masquerades in a furred
robe, and falling collar. But even through the disguise of a studio
'costume,' the finely-perceptive genius of Reynolds has managed to
suggest much that is most appealing in his sitter's nature. Past
suffering, present endurance, the craving to be understood, the mute
deprecation of contempt, are all written legibly in this pathetic
picture. It has been frequently copied, often very ineffectively, for so
subtle is the art that the slightest deviation hopelessly distorts and
vulgarizes what Reynolds has done supremely, once and for ever.

Goldsmith's character presents but few real complexities. What seems
most to have impressed his contemporaries is the difference, emphasized
by the happily-antithetic epigram of Garrick, between his written
style and his conversation; and collaterally, between his eminence as
a literary man and his personal insignificance. Much of this is easily
intelligible. He had started in life with few temporal or physical
advantages, and with a native susceptibility that intensified his
defects. Until

page xxix



he became a middle-aged man, he led a life of which we do not even
now know all the degradations; and these had left their mark upon his
manners. With the publication of The Traveller, he became at once the
associate of some of the best talent and intellect in England,of fine
gentlemen such as Beauclerk and Langton, of artists such as Reynolds and
Garrick, of talkers such as Johnson and Burke. Morbidly self-conscious,
nervously anxious to succeed, he was at once forced into a competition
for which neither his antecedents nor his qualifications had prepared
him. To this, coupled with the old habit of poverty, must be attributed
his oft-cited passion for fine clothes, which surely arose less from
vanity than from a mistaken attempt to extenuate what he felt to be his
most obvious shortcomings. As a talker especially he was ill-fitted to
shine. He was easily disconcerted by retort, and often discomfited in
argument. To the end of his days he never lost his native brogue;
and (as he himself tells us) he had that most fatal of defects to a
narrator, a slow and hesitating manner. The perspicuity which makes the
charm of his writings deserted him in conversation; and his best things
were momentary flashes. But some of these were undoubtedly very happy.
His telling Johnson that he would make the little fishes talk like
whales; his affirmation of Burke that he wound into a subject like a
serpent; and half-a-dozen other well-remembered examplesafford ample
proof of this. Something of the uneasy jealousy he is said to have
exhibited with regard to certain of his contemporaries may also be
connected with the long probation of obscurity during which he had been
a spectator of the good fortune of others, to whom he must have known
himself superior. His improvidence seems to have been congenital, since
it is to be traced 'even from his boyish days.' But though it cannot
justly be ascribed to any

page xxx



reaction from want to sufficiency, it can still less be supposed to have
been diminished by that change. If he was careless of money, it must
also be remembered that he gave much of it away; and fortune lingers
little with those whose ears are always open to a plausible tale of
distress. Of his sensibility and genuine kindheartedness there is
no doubt. And it is well to remember that most of the tales to his
disadvantage come, not from his more distinguished companions, but from
such admitted detractors as Hawkins and Boswell. It could be no mean
individuality that acquired the esteem, and deserved the regret, of
Johnson and Reynolds.

In an edition of Goldsmith's poems, any extended examination of his
remaining productions would be out of place. Moreover, the bulk of
these is considerably reduced when all that may properly be classed as
hack-work has been withdrawn. The histories of Greece, of Rome, and of
England; the Animated Nature; the lives of Nash, Voltaire, Parnell, and
Bolingbroke, are merely compilations, only raised to the highest level
in that line because they proceeded from a man whose gift of clear and
easy exposition lent a charm to everything he touched. With the work
which he did for himself, the case is different. Into The Citizen of the
World, The Vicar of Wakefield, and his two comedies, he put all the best
of his knowledge of human nature, his keen sympathy with his kind, his
fine common-sense and his genial humour. The same qualities, tempered by
a certain grace and tenderness, also enter into the best of his poems.
Avoiding the epigram of Pope and the austere couplet of Johnson, he yet
borrowed something from each, which he combined with a delicacy and
an amenity that he had learned from neither. He himself, in all
probability, would have rested his fame on his three chief metrical
efforts, The Traveller, The Hermit, and The Deserted Village. But,

page xxxi



as is often the case, he is remembered even more favourably by some of
those delightful familiar verses, unprinted during his lifetime,
which he threw off with no other ambition than the desire to amuse his
friends. Retaliation, The Haunch of Venison, the Letter in Prose and
Verse to Mrs. Bunbury, all afford noteworthy exemplification of that
playful touch and wayward fancy which constitute the chief attraction
of this species of poetry. In his imitations of Swift and Prior, and
his variations upon French suggestions, his personal note is scarcely
so apparent; but the two Elegies and some of the minor pieces retain a
deserved reputation. His ingenious prologues and epilogues also serve
to illustrate the range and versatility of his talent. As a rule, the
arrangement in the present edition is chronological; but it has not
been thought necessary to depart from the practice which gives a time-
honoured precedence to The Traveller and The Deserted Village. The
true sequence of the poems, in their order of publication, is, however,
exactly indicated in the table which follows this Introduction.


Contents Chronology Notes

Poetical Works of Goldsmith / Contents / Introduction /


page xxxii



CHRONOLOGY OF GOLDSMITH'S LIFE AND POEMS.



1728 November 10. Born at Pallas, near Ballymahon, in the county of
Longford, Ireland. 1730 Family remove to Lissoy, in the county of
Westmeath. 1731 Under Elizabeth Delap. 1734 Under Mr. Thomas Byrne of
the village school. 1736-44 At school at Elphin (Mr. Griffin's), Athlone
(Mr. Campbell's), Edgeworthstown (Mr. Hughes's). 1744 June 11. Admitted
a sizar of Trinity College, Dublin, 'annum agens 15.' 1747 Death of his
father, the Rev. Charles Goldsmith. May. Takes part in a college riot.
June 15. Obtains a Smythe exhibition. Runs away from college. 1749
February 27. Takes his degree as Bachelor of Arts. 1751 Rejected for
orders by the Bishop of Elphin. Tutor to Mr. Flinn. Sets out for America
(via Cork), but returns. Letter to Mrs. Goldsmith (his mother). 1752
Starts as a law student, but loses his all at play. Goes to Edinburgh
to become a medical student. 1753 January 13. Admitted a member of the
'Medical Society' of Edinburgh. May 8. Letter to his Uncle Contarine.
September 26. Letter to Robert Bryanton. Letter to his Uncle Contarine.
1754 Goes to Leyden. Letter to his Uncle Contarine. 1755 February.
Leaves Leyden. Takes degree of Bachelor of Medicine at Louvain (?).
Travels on foot in France, Germany, Switzerland, and Italy. Sketches The
Traveller. 1756 February 1. Returns to Dover. Low comedian; usher (?);
apothecary's journeyman; poor physician in Bankside, Southwark.


page xxxiii




1757 Press corrector to Samuel Richardson, printer and novelist;
assistant at Peckham Academy (Dr. Milner's). April. Bound over to
Griffiths the bookseller. Quarrels with Griffiths. December 27. Letter
to his brother-in-law, Daniel Hodson. 1758 February. Publishes The
Memoirs of a Protestant, condemned to the Galleys of France for his
Religion. Gives up literature and returns to Peckham. August. Leaves
Peckham. Letters to Edward Mills, Bryanton, Mrs. Jane Lawder. Appointed
surgeon and physician to a factory on the Coast of Coromandel. November
(?). Letter to Hodson. Moves into 12 Green Arbour Court, Old Bailey.
Coromandel appointment comes to nothing. December 21. Rejected at
Surgeons' Hall as 'not qualified' for a hospital mate. 1759 February
(?). Letter to Henry Goldsmith. March. Visited by Percy at 12 Green
Arbour Court. April 2. Enquiry into the Present State of Polite Learning
in Europe published. 'Prologue of Laberius' (Enquiry). October 6. The
Bee commenced. 'On a Beautiful Youth struck blind with Lightning' (Bee).
October 13. 'The Gift' (Bee). October 18. 'The Logicians Refuted' (Busy
Body). October 20. 'A Sonnet' (Bee). October 22. 'Stanzas on the Taking
of Quebec' (Busy Body). October 27. 'Elegy on Mrs. Mary Blaize' (Bee).
November 24. The Bee closed. 1760 January 1. The British Magazine
commenced. January 12. The Public Ledger commenced. January 24. First
Chinese Letter published (Citizen of the World). May 2. 'Description of
an Author's Bedchamber' ('Chinese Letter' in Public Ledger). October
21. 'On seeing Mrs. . . . perform,' etc. ('Chinese Letter' in Public
Ledger). Editing Lady's Magazine. Compiling Prefaces. Moves into 6 Wine
Office Court, Fleet Street.


page xxxiv




1761 March 4. 'On the Death of the Right Hon. . . . ('Chinese Letter' in
Public Ledger). April 4-14. 'An Epigram'; to G. C. and R. L. ('Chinese
Letter in Public Ledger). May 13. 'Translation of a South American
Ode.' ('Chinese Letter' in Public Ledger) August 14. Last Chinese Letter
published (Citizen of the World). Memoirs of M. de Voltaire published
in Lady's Magazine. 1762 February 23. Pamphlet on Cock Lane Ghost
published. February 26. History of Mecklenburgh published. May 1.
Citizen of the World published. May 1 to Nov. 1. Plutarch's Lives, vol.
i to vii, published. At Bath and Tunbridge. October 14. Life of Richard
Nash published. October 28. Sells third share of Vicar of Wakefield to
B. Collins, printer, Salisbury. At Mrs. Fleming's at Islington. 1763
March 31. Agrees with James Dodsley to write a Chronological History of
the Lives of Eminent Persons of Great Britain and Ireland. (Never done.)
1764 'The Club,' afterwards the Literary Club, founded. Moves into
lodgings on the library staircase of the Temple. June 26. History of
England, in a series of Letters from a Nobleman to his Son published.
October 31. Oratorio of The Captivity sold to James Dodsley. December
19. The Traveller published. 1765 June 4. Essays by Mr. Goldsmith
published. 'The Double Transformation,' 'A New Simile' (Essays). Edwin
and Angelina (The Hermit) printed privately for the amusement of the
Countess of Northumberland. Resumes practice as a physician. 1766 March
27. Vicar of Wakefield published. 'Elegy on a Mad Dog'; 'Olivia's Song'
(Vicar of Wakefield). May 31. Vicar of Wakefield, 2nd edition. June.
Translation of Formey's Concise History of Philosophy and Philosophers
published. August 29. Vicar of Wakefield, 3rd edition. December 15.
Poems for Young Ladies published.


page xxxv




1766 December 28. English Grammar written. 1767 April. Beauties of
English Poesy published. July 19. Living in Garden Court, Temple. July
25. Letter to the St. James's Chronicle. December 22. Death of John
Newbery. 1768 February 5. Publishes The Good Natur'd Man, a Comedy,
produced at Covent Garden, January 29. 'Epilogue to The Good Natur'd
Man.' Moves to 2 Brick Court, Middle Temple. May. Death of Henry
Goldsmith. Living at Edgware. 1769 February 18. 'Epilogue to Mrs.
Lenox's Sister.' February 29. Agreement for 'a new Natural History of
Animals' (Animated Nature). May 18. Roman History published. June 13.
Agreement for History of England. December. Appointed Professor of
History to the Royal Academy. 1770 January. Letter to Maurice Goldsmith.
April 24-May 26. Portrait by Reynolds exhibited. May 26. The Deserted
Village published. July 13. Life of Thomas Parnell published. July.
On the Continent with the Hornecks. Letters to Reynolds. September 15.
Agreement for abridgement of Roman History. December 1. Marchi's print
from Reynold's portrait published. December 19. Life of Bolingbroke
published. Vicar of Wakefield, 4th edition. 1771 Haunch of Venison
written. (?) August 6. History of England published. December 11.
'Prologue to Cradock's Zobeide.' 1772 February 20. Threnodia Augustalis
published. Watson's Engraving of Resignation published. December.
Abridgement of Roman History published. 1773 March 26. Publishes She
Stoops to Conquer; or, The Mistakes of a Night, a Comedy, produced at
Covent Garden, March 15. 'Song in She Stoops to Conquer,' 'Epilogue to
She Stoops to Conquer.'


page xxxvi




1773 March 24. Kenrick's libel in the London Packet. March 31. Letter
in the Daily Advertiser. May 8. The Grumbler produced. Projects a
Dictionary of Arts and Sciences. 1774 March 25. Illness. April 4. Death.
April 9. 'Buried 9th April, Oliver Goldsmith, MB, late of Brick-court,
Middle Temple' (Register of Burials, Temple Church). April 19.
Retaliation published. April. Vicar of Wakefield, 5th edition (dated
1773). June. Song ('Ah me, when shall I marry me?') published. June 28.
Letters of Administration granted. June. An History of the Earth and
Animated Nature published. 'Translation from Addison.' (History,
etc., 1774.) 1776 The Haunch of Venison published. 'Epitaph on Thomas
Parnell,' and 'Two Songs from The Captivity (Haunch of Venison).
Monument with medallion by Nollekens erected in the south transept of
Westminster Abbey. 1777 Poems and Plays published. 'The Clown's Reply,'
'Epitaph on Edward Purdon' (Poems, etc., 1777). 1779 Vicar of Wakefield,
6th edition. 1780 Poetical and Dramatic Works, Evans's edition,
published. 'Epilogue for Lee Lewes' (Poetical, etc., Works, 1780). 1801
Miscellaneous Works, Percy's edition, published. 'Epilogues (unspoken)
to She Stoops to Conquer' (Misc. Works, 1801). 1820 Miscellaneous Works,
'trade' edition, published. An Oratorio' (The Captivity). (Misc. Works,
1820.) 1837 Miscellaneous Works, Prior's edition, published. 'Verses in
Reply to an Invitation to Dinner'; 'Letter in Prose and Verse to Mrs.
Bunbury' (Misc. Works, 1837). Tablet erected in the Temple Church. 1854
Goldsmith's Works, Cunningham's edition, published. 'Translation of
Vida's Game of Chess' (Works, 1854, vol. iv). 1864 January 5. J. H.
Foley's statue placed in front of Dublin University.

Introduction Descriptive Poems Notes

Poetical Works of Goldsmith / Contents / Chronology /


Vignette to 'The Traveller'

VIGNETTE TO 'THE TRAVELLER' (Samuel Wale)



page 3



DESCRIPTIVE POEMS


THE TRAVELLER

OR

A PROSPECT OF SOCIETY


DEDICATION TO THE REV. HENRY GOLDSMITH

DEAR SIR, I am sensible that the friendship between us can acquire no
new force from the ceremonies of a Dedication; and perhaps it demands an
excuse thus to prefix your name to my attempts, which you decline giving
with your own. But as a part of this Poem was formerly written to you
from Switzerland, the whole can now, with propriety, be only inscribed
to you. It will also throw a light upon many parts of it, when the
reader understands, that it is addressed to a man, who, despising Fame
and Fortune, has retired early to Happiness and Obscurity, with an
income of forty pounds a year.

I now perceive, my dear brother, the wisdom of your humble choice. You
have entered upon a sacred office, where the harvest is great, and the
labourers are but few; while you have left the field of Ambition, where
the labourers are many, and the harvest not worth carrying away. But
of all kinds of ambition, what from the refinement of the times, from
different systems of criticism, and from the divisions of party, that
which pursues poetical fame is the wildest.

Poetry makes a principal amusement among unpolished nations; but in a
country verging to the extremes of refinement, Painting and Music
come in for a share. As these offer the feeble mind a less laborious
entertainment,

notes

page 4



they at first rival Poetry, and at length supplant her; they engross
all that favour once shown to her, and though but younger sisters, seize
upon the elder's birthright.

Yet, however this art may be neglected by the powerful, it is still in
greater danger from the mistaken efforts of the learned to improve it.
What criticisms have we not heard of late in favour of blank verse, and
Pindaric odes, choruses, anapaests and iambics, alliterative care and
happy negligence! Every absurdity has now a champion to defend it; and
as he is generally much in the wrong, so he has always much to say; for
error is ever talkative.

But there is an enemy to this art still more dangerous, I mean Party.
Party entirely distorts the judgment, and destroys the taste. When the
mind is once infected with this disease, it can only find pleasure in
what contributes to increase the distemper. Like the tiger, that seldom
desists from pursuing man after having once preyed upon human flesh, the
reader, who has once gratified his appetite with calumny, makes, ever
after, the most agreeable feast upon murdered reputation. Such readers
generally admire some half-witted thing, who wants to be thought a bold
man, having lost the character of a wise one. Him they dignify with the
name of poet; his tawdry lampoons are called satires, his turbulence is
said to be force, and his frenzy fire.

What reception a Poem may find, which has neither abuse, party, nor
blank verse to support it, I cannot tell, nor am I solicitous to know.
My aims are right. Without espousing the cause of any party, I have
attempted to moderate the rage of all. I have endeavoured to show, that
there may be equal happiness in states, that are differently governed
from our own; that every state has a particular principle of happiness,
and that this principle in each may be carried to a mischievous excess.
There are few can judge, better than yourself, how far these positions
are illustrated in this Poem.

I am, dear Sir, Your most affectionate Brother, OLIVER GOLDSMITH. notes

page 5



The Traveller



THE TRAVELLER

OR

A PROSPECT OF SOCIETY

REMOTE, unfriended, melancholy, slow, Or by the lazy Scheldt, or
wandering Po; Or onward, where the rude Carinthian boor Against the
houseless stranger shuts the door; Or where Campania's plain forsaken
lies, 5 A weary waste expanding to the skies: Where'er I roam, whatever
realms to see, My heart untravell'd fondly turns to thee; Still to
my brother turns with ceaseless pain, And drags at each remove a
lengthening chain. 10

Eternal blessings crown my earliest friend, And round his dwelling
guardian saints attend: Bless'd be that spot, where cheerful guests
retire To pause from toil, and trim their ev'ning fire; Bless'd that
abode, where want and pain repair, 15 And every stranger finds a ready
chair; Bless'd be those feasts with simple plenty crown'd,

notes

page 6



Where all the ruddy family around Laugh at the jests or pranks that
never fail, Or sigh with pity at some mournful tale, 20 Or press the
bashful stranger to his food, And learn the luxury of doing good.

But me, not destin'd such delights to share, My prime of life in
wand'ring spent and care, Impell'd, with steps unceasing, to pursue 25
Some fleeting good, that mocks me with the view; That, like the circle
bounding earth and skies, Allures from far, yet, as I follow, flies;
My fortune leads to traverse realms alone, And find no spot of all the
world my own. 30

E'en now, where Alpine solitudes ascend, I sit me down a pensive hour to
spend; And, plac'd on high above the storm's career, Look downward where
a hundred realms appear; Lakes, forests, cities, plains, extending wide,
35 The pomp of kings, the shepherd's humbler pride.

When thus Creation's charms around combine, Amidst the store, should
thankless pride repine? Say, should the philosophic mind disdain That
good, which makes each humbler bosom vain? 40 Let school-taught pride
dissemble all it can, These little things are great to little man; And
wiser he, whose sympathetic mind Exults in all the good of all mankind.
Ye glitt'ring towns, with wealth and splendour crown'd, 45 Ye fields,
where summer spreads profusion round, Ye lakes, whose vessels catch the
busy gale, Ye bending swains, that dress the flow'ry vale,

notes

page 7



For me your tributary stores combine; Creation's heir, the world, the
world is mine! 50

As some lone miser visiting his store, Bends at his treasure, counts,
re-counts it o'er; Hoards after hoards his rising raptures fill,
Yet still he sighs, for hoards are wanting still: Thus to my breast
alternate passions rise, 55 Pleas'd with each good that heaven to man
supplies: Yet oft a sigh prevails, and sorrows fall, To see the hoard
of human bliss so small; And oft I wish, amidst the scene, to find Some
spot to real happiness consign'd, 60 Where my worn soul, each wand'ring
hope at rest, May gather bliss to see my fellows bless'd.

But where to find that happiest spot below, Who can direct, when all
pretend to know? The shudd'ring tenant of the frigid zone 65 Boldly
proclaims that happiest spot his own, Extols the treasures of his stormy
seas, And his long nights of revelry and ease; The naked <DW64>, panting
at the line, Boasts of his golden sands and palmy wine, 70 Basks in the
glare, or stems the tepid wave, And thanks his gods for all the good
they gave. Such is the patriot's boast, where'er we roam, His first,
best country ever is, at home. And yet, perhaps, if countries we
compare, 75 And estimate the blessings which they share, Though patriots
flatter, still shall wisdom find An equal portion dealt to all mankind,

notes

page 8



As different good, by Art or Nature given, To different nations makes
their blessings even. 80

Nature, a mother kind alike to all, Still grants her bliss at Labour's
earnest call; With food as well the peasant is supplied On Idra's cliffs
as Arno's shelvy side; And though the rocky-crested summits frown, 85
These rocks, by custom, turn to beds of down. From Art more various are
the blessings sent; Wealth commerce, honour, liberty, content. Yet these
each other's power so strong contest, That either seems destructive
of the rest. 90 Where wealth and freedom reign, contentment fails, And
honour sinks where commerce long prevails. Hence every state to one
lov'd blessing prone, Conforms and models life to that alone. Each to
the favourite happiness attends, 95 And spurns the plan that aims at
other ends; Till, carried to excess in each domain, This favourite good
begets peculiar pain.

But let us try these truths with closer eyes, And trace them through the
prospect as it lies: 100 Here for a while my proper cares resign'd, Here
let me sit in sorrow for mankind, Like yon neglected shrub at random
cast, That shades the steep, and sighs at every blast.

Far to the right where Apennine ascends, 105 Bright as the summer, Italy
extends; Its uplands sloping deck the mountain's side, Woods over woods
in gay theatric pride;

The Traveller THE TRAVELLER (R. Westall) notes

page 9



While oft some temple's mould'ring tops between With venerable grandeur
mark the scene 110

Could Nature's bounty satisfy the breast, The sons of Italy were surely
blest. Whatever fruits in different climes were found, That proudly
rise, or humbly court the ground; Whatever blooms in torrid tracts
appear, 115 Whose bright succession decks the varied year; Whatever
sweets salute the northern sky With vernal lives that blossom but to
die; These here disporting own the kindred soil, Nor ask luxuriance from
the planter's toil; 120 While sea-born gales their gelid wings expand To
winnow fragrance round the smiling land.

But small the bliss that sense alone bestows, And sensual bliss is all
the nation knows. In florid beauty groves and fields appear, 125 Man
seems the only growth that dwindles here. Contrasted faults through
all his manner reign; Though poor, luxurious; though submissive, vain;
Though grave, yet trifling; zealous, yet untrue; And e'en in penance
planning sins anew. 130 All evils here contaminate the mind, That
opulence departed leaves behind; For wealth was theirs, not far remov'd
the date, When commerce proudly flourish'd through the state; At her
command the palace learn'd to rise, 135 Again the long-fall'n column
sought the skies; The canvas glow'd beyond e'en Nature warm, The
pregnant quarry teem'd with human form; Till, more unsteady than the
southern gale,

notes

page 10



Commerce on other shores display'd her sail; 140 While nought remain'd
of all that riches gave, But towns unmann'd, and lords without a slave;
And late the nation found, with fruitless skill, Its former strength was
but plethoric ill.

Yet still the loss of wealth is here supplied 145 By arts, the splendid
wrecks of former pride; From these the feeble heart and long-fall'n mind
An easy compensation seem to find. Here may be seen, in bloodless pomp
array'd, The paste-board triumph and the cavalcade; 150 Processions
form'd for piety and love, A mistress or a saint in every grove. By
sports like these are all their cares beguil'd, The sports of children
satisfy the child; Each nobler aim, repress'd by long control, 155 Now
sinks at last, or feebly mans the soul; While low delights, succeeding
fast behind, In happier meanness occupy the mind: As in those domes,
where Caesars once bore sway, Defac'd by time and tottering in decay,
160 There in the ruin, heedless of the dead, The shelter-seeking peasant
builds his shed, And, wond'ring man could want the larger pile, Exults,
and owns his cottage with a smile.

My soul, turn from them; turn we to survey 165 Where rougher climes a
nobler race display, Where the bleak Swiss their stormy mansions tread,
And force a churlish soil for scanty bread; No product here the barren
hills afford, But man and steel, the soldier and his sword; 170

notes

page 11



No vernal blooms their torpid rocks array, But winter ling'ring chills
the lap of May; No Zephyr fondly sues the mountain's breast, But meteors
glare, and stormy glooms invest.

Yet still, e'en here, content can spread a charm, 175 Redress the clime,
and all its rage disarm. Though poor the peasant's hut, his feasts
though small, He sees his little lot the lot of all; Sees no contiguous
palace rear its head To shame the meanness of his humble shed; 180 No
costly lord the sumptuous banquet deal To make him loathe his vegetable
meal; But calm, and bred in ignorance and toil, Each wish contracting,
fits him to the soil. Cheerful at morn he wakes from short repose, 185
Breasts the keen air, and carols as he goes; With patient angle trolls
the finny deep, Or drives his vent'rous plough-share to the steep; Or
seeks the den where snow-tracks mark the way, And drags the struggling
savage into day. 190 At night returning, every labour sped, He sits
him down the monarch of a shed; Smiles by his cheerful fire, and round
surveys His children's looks, that brighten at the blaze; While his
lov'd partner, boastful of her hoard, 195 Displays her cleanly platter
on the board: And haply too some pilgrim, thither led, With many a tale
repays the nightly bed.

Thus every good his native wilds impart, Imprints the patriot passion on
his heart, 200

notes

page 12



And e'en those ills, that round his mansion rise, Enhance the bliss his
scanty fund supplies. Dear is that shed to which his soul conforms,
And dear that hill which lifts him to the storms; And as a child, when
scaring sounds molest, 205 Clings close and closer to the mother's
breast, So the loud torrent, and the whirlwind's roar, But bind him to
his native mountains more.

Such are the charms to barren states assign'd; Their wants but few,
their wishes all confin'd. 210 Yet let them only share the praises due,
If few their wants, their pleasures are but few; For every want that
stimulates the breast, Becomes a source of pleasure when redrest. Whence
from such lands each pleasing science flies, 215 That first excites
desire, and then supplies; Unknown to them, when sensual pleasures cloy,
To fill the languid pause with finer joy; Unknown those powers that
raise the soul to flame, Catch every nerve, and vibrate through the
frame. 220 Their level life is but a smould'ring fire, Unquench'd by
want, unfann'd by strong desire; Unfit for raptures, or, if raptures
cheer On some high festival of once a year, In wild excess the vulgar
breast takes fire, 225 Till, buried in debauch, the bliss expire.

But not their joys alone thus coarsely flow: Their morals, like their
pleasures, are but low; For, as refinement stops, from sire to son
Unalter'd, unimprov'd the manners run; 230

notes

page 13



And love's and friendship's finely pointed dart Fall blunted from each
indurated heart. Some sterner virtues o'er the mountain's breast May
sit, like falcons cow'ring on the nest; But all the gentler morals, such
as play 235 Through life's more cultur'd walks, and charm the way, These
far dispers'd, on timorous pinions fly, To sport and flutter in a kinder
sky.

To kinder skies, where gentler manners reign, I turn; and France
displays her bright domain. 240 Gay sprightly land of mirth and social
ease, Pleas'd with thyself, whom all the world can please, How often
have I led thy sportive choir, With tuneless pipe, beside the murmuring
Loire! Where shading elms along the margin grew, 245 And freshen'd from
the wave the Zephyr flew; And haply, though my harsh touch falt'ring
still, But mock'd all tune, and marr'd the dancer's skill; Yet would the
village praise my wondrous power, And dance, forgetful of the noon-tide
hour. 250 Alike all ages. Dames of ancient days Have led their children
through the mirthful maze, And the gay grandsire, skill'd in gestic
lore, Has frisk'd beneath the burthen of threescore.

So bless'd a life these thoughtless realms display, 255 Thus idly busy
rolls their world away: Theirs are those arts that mind to mind endear,
For honour forms the social temper here: Honour, that praise which real
merit gains, Or e'en imaginary worth obtains, 260

notes

page 14



Here passes current; paid from hand to hand, It shifts in splendid
traffic round the land: From courts, to camps, to cottages it strays,
And all are taught an avarice of praise; They please, are pleas'd, they
give to get esteem, 265 Till, seeming bless'd, they grow to what they
seem.

But while this softer art their bliss supplies, It gives their follies
also room to rise; For praise too dearly lov'd, or warmly sought,
Enfeebles all internal strength of thought; 270 And the weak soul,
within itself unblest, Leans for all pleasure on another's breast. Hence
ostentation here, with tawdry art, Pants for the vulgar praise which
fools impart; Here vanity assumes her pert grimace, 275 And trims her
robes of frieze with copper lace; Here beggar pride defrauds her daily
cheer, To boast one splendid banquet once a year; The mind still
turns where shifting fashion draws, Nor weighs the solid worth of
self-applause. 280

To men of other minds my fancy flies, Embosom'd in the deep where
Holland lies. Methinks her patient sons before me stand, Where the broad
ocean leans against the land, And, sedulous to stop the coming tide,
285 Lift the tall rampire's artificial pride. Onward, methinks, and
diligently slow, The firm-connected bulwark seems to grow; Spreads its
long arms amidst the wat'ry roar, Scoops out an empire, and usurps the
shore; 290

notes

page 15



While the pent ocean rising o'er the pile, Sees an amphibious world
beneath him smile; The slow canal, the yellow-blossom'd vale, The
willow-tufted bank, the gliding sail, The crowded mart, the cultivated
plain, 295 A new creation rescu'd from his reign.

Thus, while around the wave-subjected soil Impels the native to repeated
toil, Industrious habits in each bosom reign, And industry begets a love
of gain. 300 Hence all the good from opulence that springs, With all
those ills superfluous treasure brings, Are here displayed. Their
much-lov'd wealth imparts Convenience, plenty, elegance, and arts; But
view them closer, craft and fraud appear, 305 E'en liberty itself is
barter'd here. At gold's superior charms all freedom flies, The needy
sell it, and the rich man buys; A land of tyrants, and a den of slaves,
Here wretches seek dishonourable graves, 310 And calmly bent, to
servitude conform, Dull as their lakes that slumber in the storm.

Heavens! how unlike their Belgic sires of old! Rough, poor, content,
ungovernably bold; War in each breast, and freedom on each brow; 315 How
much unlike the sons of Britain now!

Fir'd at the sound, my genius spreads her wing, And flies where Britain
courts the western spring; Where lawns extend that scorn Arcadian pride,
And brighter streams than fam'd Hydaspes glide. 320

notes

page 16



There all around the gentlest breezes stray, There gentle music melts on
ev'ry spray; Creation's mildest charms are there combin'd, Extremes are
only in the master's mind! Stern o'er each bosom reason holds her state,
325 With daring aims irregularly great; Pride in their port, defiance
in their eye, I see the lords of human kind pass by, Intent on high
designs, a thoughtful band, By forms unfashion'd, fresh from Nature's
hand; 330 Fierce in their native hardiness of soul, True to imagin'd
right, above control, While e'en the peasant boasts these rights to
scan, And learns to venerate himself as man.

Thine, Freedom, thine the blessings pictur'd here, 335 Thine are those
charms that dazzle and endear; Too bless'd, indeed, were such without
alloy, But foster'd e'en by Freedom, ills annoy: That independence
Britons prize too high, Keeps man from man, and breaks the social tie;
340 The self-dependent lordlings stand alone, All claims that bind and
sweeten life unknown; Here by the bonds of nature feebly held, Minds
combat minds, repelling and repell'd. Ferments arise, imprison'd
factions roar, 345 Repress'd ambition struggles round her shore, Till
over-wrought, the general system feels Its motions stop, or frenzy fire
the wheels.

Nor this the worst. As nature's ties decay, As duty, love, and honour
fail to sway, 350

notes

page 17



Fictitious bonds, the bonds of wealth and law, Still gather strength,
and force unwilling awe. Hence all obedience bows to these alone, And
talent sinks, and merit weeps unknown; Time may come, when stripp'd of
all her charms, 355 The land of scholars, and the nurse of arms, Where
noble stems transmit the patriot flame, Where kings have toil'd, and
poets wrote for fame, One sink of level avarice shall lie, And scholars,
soldiers, kings, unhonour'd die. 360

Yet think not, thus when Freedom's ills I state, I mean to flatter
kings, or court the great; Ye powers of truth, that bid my soul aspire,
Far from my bosom drive the low desire; And thou, fair Freedom, taught
alike to feel 365 The rabble's rage, and tyrant's angry steel; Thou
transitory flower, alike undone By proud contempt, or favour's fostering
sun, Still may thy blooms the changeful clime endure, I only would
repress them to secure: 370 For just experience tells, in every soil,
That those who think must govern those that toil; And all that freedom's
highest aims can reach, Is but to lay proportion'd loads on each. Hence,
should one order disproportion'd grow, 375 Its double weight must ruin
all below.

O then how blind to all that truth requires, Who think it freedom when
a part aspires! Calm is my soul, nor apt to rise in arms, Except when
fast-approaching danger warms: 380

notes

page 18



But when contending chiefs blockade the throne, Contracting regal power
to stretch their own; When I behold a factious band agree To call it
freedom when themselves are free; Each wanton judge new penal statutes
draw, 385 Laws grind the poor, and rich men rule the law; The wealth
of climes, where savage nations roam, Pillag'd from slaves to purchase
slaves at home; Fear, pity, justice, indignation start, Tear off
reserve, and bare my swelling heart; 390 Till half a patriot, half a
coward grown, I fly from petty tyrants to the throne.

Yes, brother, curse with me that baleful hour, When first ambition
struck at regal power; And thus polluting honour in its source, 395
Gave wealth to sway the mind with double force. Have we not seen, round
Britain's peopled shore, Her useful sons exchang'd for useless ore? Seen
all her triumphs but destruction haste, Like flaring tapers bright'ning
as they waste; 400 Seen opulence, her grandeur to maintain, Lead stern
depopulation in her train, And over fields where scatter'd hamlets rose,
In barren solitary pomp repose? Have we not seen, at pleasure's lordly
call, 405 The smiling long-frequented village fall? Beheld the duteous
son, the sire decay'd, The modest matron, and the blushing maid, Forc'd
from their homes, a melancholy train, To traverse climes beyond the
western main; 410

notes

page 19



Where wild Oswego spreads her swamps around, And Niagara stuns with
thund'ring sound?

E'en now, perhaps as there some pilgrim strays Through tangled forests,
and through dangerous ways; Where beasts with man divided empire claim,
415 And the brown Indian marks with murd'rous aim; There, while above
the giddy tempest flies, And all around distressful yells arise, The
pensive exile, bending with his woe, To stop too fearful, and too faint
to go, 420 Casts a long look where England's glories shine, And bids his
bosom sympathise with mine.

Vain, very vain, my weary search to find That bliss which only centres
in the mind: Why have I stray'd from pleasure and repose, 425 To seek a
good each government bestows? In every government, though terrors reign,
Though tyrant kings, or tyrant laws restrain, How small, of all that
human hearts endure, That part which laws or kings can cause or cure.
430 Still to ourselves in every place consign'd, Our own felicity we
make or find: With secret course, which no loud storms annoy, Glides the
smooth current of domestic joy. The lifted axe, the agonising wheel, 435
Luke's iron crown, and Damiens' bed of steel, To men remote from power
but rarely known, Leave reason, faith, and conscience all our own.



notes

page 21



Vignette to 'The Deserted Village'

VIGNETTE TO 'THE DESERTED VILLAGE' (Isaac Taylor)



THE DESERTED VILLAGE


DEDICATION

TO SIR JOSHUA REYNOLDS

DEAR SIR, I can have no expectations in an address of this kind, either
to add to your reputation, or to establish my own. You can gain nothing
from my admiration, as I am ignorant of that art in which you are said
to excel; and I may lose much by the severity of your judgment, as
few have a juster taste in poetry than you. Setting interest therefore
aside, to which I never paid much attention, I must be indulged at
present in following my affections. The only dedication I ever made was
to my brother, because I loved him better than most other men. He is
since dead. Permit me to inscribe this Poem to you.

How far you may be pleased with the versification and mere mechanical
parts of this attempt, I don't pretend to enquire; but I know you will
object (and indeed several of our best and wisest friends concur in the
opinion) that the depopulation it deplores is no where to be seen,
and the disorders it laments are only to be found in the poet's own
imagination. To this I can scarce make any other answer than that I
sincerely believe what I have written; that I have taken all possible
pains, in my country excursions, for these four or five years past, to
be certain of what I allege; and that all my views and enquiries have
led me to believe those miseries real, which I here attempt to display.
But this is not the place to enter into an enquiry, whether the country
be depopulating or not; the discussion would take up much room, and I
should prove myself, at best, an indifferent politician, to tire the
reader with a long preface, when I want his unfatigued attention to a
long poem.

notes

page 22



In regretting the depopulation of the country, I inveigh against the
increase of our luxuries; and here also I expect the shout of modern
politicians against me. For twenty or thirty years past, it has been the
fashion to consider luxury as one of the greatest national advantages;
and all the wisdom of antiquity in that particular, as erroneous. Still
however, I must remain a professed ancient on that head, and continue to
think those luxuries prejudicial to states, by which so many vices are
introduced, and so many kingdoms have been undone. Indeed so much has
been poured out of late on the other side of the question, that, merely
for the sake of novelty and variety, one would sometimes wish to be in
the right.

I am, Dear Sir, Your sincere friend, and ardent admirer, OLIVER
GOLDSMITH.



notes

page 23



Village



THE DESERTED VILLAGE

SWEET AUBURN! loveliest village of the plain, Where health and plenty
cheer'd the labouring swain, Where smiling spring its earliest visit
paid, And parting summer's lingering blooms delay'd: Dear lovely bowers
of innocence and ease, 5 Seats of my youth, when every sport could
please, How often have I loiter'd o'er thy green, Where humble happiness
endear'd each scene; How often have I paus'd on every charm, The
shelter'd cot, the cultivated farm, 10 The never-failing brook, the busy
mill, The decent church that topp'd the neighbouring hill, The hawthorn
bush, with seats beneath the shade, For talking age and whisp'ring
lovers made; How often have I bless'd the coming day, 15 When toil
remitting lent its turn to play, And all the village train, from labour
free, Led up their sports beneath the spreading tree; While many a
pastime circled in the shade, The young contending as the old survey'd;
20

notes

page 24



And many a gambol frolick'd o'er the ground, And sleights of art and
feats of strength went round; And still as each repeated pleasure tir'd,
Succeeding sports the mirthful band inspir'd; The dancing pair that
simply sought renown, 25 By holding out to tire each other down; The
swain mistrustless of his smutted face, While secret laughter titter'd
round the place; The bashful virgin's side-long looks of love, The
matron's glance that would those looks reprove: 30 These were thy
charms, sweet village; sports like these, With sweet succession, taught
e'en toil to please; These round thy bowers their cheerful influence
shed, These were thy charmsBut all these charms are fled.

Sweet smiling village, loveliest of the lawn, 35 Thy sports are fled,
and all thy charms withdrawn; Amidst thy bowers the tyrant's hand is
seen, And desolation saddens all thy green: One only master grasps the
whole domain, And half a tillage stints thy smiling plain: 40 No more
thy glassy brook reflects the day, But chok'd with sedges, works its
weedy way. Along thy glades, a solitary guest, The hollow-sounding
bittern guards its nest; Amidst thy desert walks the lapwing flies,
45 And tires their echoes with unvaried cries. Sunk are thy bowers in
shapeless ruin all, And the long grass o'ertops the mould'ring wall;
And trembling, shrinking from the spoiler's hand, Far, far away, thy
children leave the land. 50

notes

page 25



Ill fares the land, to hast'ning ills a prey, Where wealth accumulates,
and men decay: Princes and lords may flourish, or may fade; A breath can
make them, as a breath has made; But a bold peasantry, their country's
pride, 55 When once destroy'd, can never be supplied.

A time there was, ere England's griefs began, When every rood of ground
maintain'd its man; For him light labour spread her wholesome store,
Just gave what life requir'd, but gave no more: 60 His best companions,
innocence and health; And his best riches, ignorance of wealth.

But times are alter'd; trade's unfeeling train Usurp the land and
dispossess the swain; Along the lawn, where scatter'd hamlets rose, 65
Unwieldy wealth, and cumbrous pomp repose; And every want to opulence
allied, And every pang that folly pays to pride. Those gentle hours that
plenty bade to bloom, Those calm desires that ask'd but little room,
70 Those healthful sports that grac'd the peaceful scene, Liv'd in each
look, and brighten'd all the green; These, far departing, seek a kinder
shore, And rural mirth and manners are no more.

Sweet AUBURN! parent of the blissful hour, 75 Thy glades forlorn confess
the tyrant's power. Here as I take my solitary rounds, Amidst thy
tangling walks, and ruin'd grounds, And, many a year elaps'd, return to
view Where once the cottage stood, the hawthorn grew, 80

notes

page 26



Remembrance wakes with all her busy train, Swells at my breast, and
turns the past to pain.

In all my wand'rings round this world of care, In all my griefsand
GOD has given my share I still had hopes my latest hours to crown, 85
Amidst these humble bowers to lay me down; To husband out life's taper
at the close, And keep the flame from wasting by repose. I still
had hopes, for pride attends us still, Amidst the swains to show my
book-learn'd skill, 90 Around my fire an evening group to draw, And
tell of all I felt, and all I saw; And, as a hare, whom hounds and horns
pursue, Pants to the place from whence at first she flew, I still had
hopes, my long vexations pass'd, 95 Here to returnand die at home at
last.

O blest retirement, friend to life's decline, Retreats from care, that
never must be mine, How happy he who crowns in shades like these, A
youth of labour with an age of ease; 100 Who quits a world where strong
temptations try And, since 'tis hard to combat, learns to fly! For
him no wretches, born to work and weep, Explore the mine, or tempt the
dangerous deep; No surly porter stands in guilty state 105 To spurn
imploring famine from the gate; But on he moves to meet his latter
end, Angels around befriending Virtue's friend; Bends to the grave with
unperceiv'd decay, While Resignation gently <DW72>s the way; 110

notes

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And, all his prospects bright'ning to the last, His Heaven commences ere
the world be pass'd!

Sweet was the sound, when oft at evening's close Up yonder hill the
village murmur rose; There, as I pass'd with careless steps and slow,
115 The mingling notes came soften'd from below; The swain responsive as
the milk-maid sung, The sober herd that low'd to meet their young; The
noisy geese that gabbled o'er the pool, The playful children just let
loose from school; 120 The watchdog's voice that bay'd the whisp'ring
wind, And the loud laugh that spoke the vacant mind; These all in sweet
confusion sought the shade, And fill'd each pause the nightingale had
made. But now the sounds of population fail, 125 No cheerful murmurs
fluctuate in the gale, No busy steps the grass-grown foot-way tread,
For all the bloomy flush of life is fled. All but yon widow'd, solitary
thing That feebly bends beside the plashy spring; 130 She, wretched
matron, forc'd in age, for bread, To strip the brook with mantling
cresses spread, To pick her wintry <DW19> from the thorn, To seek her
nightly shed, and weep till morn; She only left of all the harmless
train, 135 The sad historian of the pensive plain.

Near yonder copse, where once the garden smil'd, And still where many
a garden flower grows wild; There, where a few torn shrubs the place
disclose, The village preacher's modest mansion rose. 140

notes

page 28



A man he was to all the country dear, And passing rich with forty pounds
a year; Remote from towns he ran his godly race, Nor e'er had chang'd,
nor wished to change his place; Unpractis'd he to fawn, or seek for
power, 145 By doctrines fashion'd to the varying hour; Far other aims
his heart had learned to prize, More skill'd to raise the wretched than
to rise. His house was known to all the vagrant train, He chid their
wand'rings, but reliev'd their pain; 150 The long-remember'd beggar
was his guest, Whose beard descending swept his aged breast; The ruin'd
spendthrift, now no longer proud, Claim'd kindred there, and had his
claims allow'd; The broken soldier, kindly bade to stay, 155 Sat by
his fire, and talk'd the night away; Wept o'er his wounds, or tales
of sorrow done, Shoulder'd his crutch, and show'd how fields were won.
Pleas'd with his guests, the good man learn'd to glow, And quite forgot
their vices in their woe; 160 Careless their merits, or their faults to
scan, His pity gave ere charity began.

Thus to relieve the wretched was his pride, And e'en his failings lean'd
to Virtue's side; But in his duty prompt at every call, 165 He watch'd
and wept, he pray'd and felt, for all. And, as a bird each fond
endearment tries To tempt its new-fledg'd offspring to the skies, He
tried each art, reprov'd each dull delay, Allur'd to brighter worlds,
and led the way. 170

notes

page 29



Beside the bed where parting life was laid, And sorrow, guilt, and pain,
by turns dismay'd, The reverend champion stood. At his control, Despair
and anguish fled the struggling soul; Comfort came down the trembling
wretch to raise, 175 And his last falt'ring accents whisper'd praise.

At church, with meek and unaffected grace, His looks adorn'd the
venerable place; Truth from his lips prevail'd with double sway, And
fools, who came to scoff, remain'd to pray. 180 The service pass'd,
around the pious man, With steady zeal, each honest rustic ran; Even
children follow'd with endearing wile, And pluck'd his gown, to share
the good man's smile. His ready smile a parent's warmth express'd,
185 Their welfare pleas'd him, and their cares distress'd; To them his
heart, his love, his griefs were given, But all his serious thoughts had
rest in Heaven. As some tall cliff, that lifts its awful form, Swells
from the vale, and midway leaves the storm, 190 Though round its breast
the rolling clouds are spread, Eternal sunshine settles on its head.

Beside yon straggling fence that skirts the way, With blossom'd furze
unprofitably gay, There, in his noisy mansion, skill'd to rule, 195 The
village master taught his little school; A man severe he was, and stern
to view; I knew him well, and every truant knew; Well had the boding
tremblers learn'd to trace The day's disasters in his morning face; 200

notes

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Full well they laugh'd, with counterfeited glee, At all his jokes, for
many a joke had he; Full well the busy whisper, circling round, Convey'd
the dismal tidings when he frown'd; Yet he was kind; or if severe in
aught, 205 The love he bore to learning was in fault; The village all
declar'd how much he knew; 'Twas certain he could write, and cypher too;
Lands he could measure, terms and tides presage, And e'en the story ran
that he could gauge. 210 In arguing too, the parson own'd his skill,
For e'en though vanquish'd, he could argue still; While words of learned
length and thund'ring sound Amazed the gazing rustics rang'd around,
And still they gaz'd, and still the wonder grew, 215 That one small head
could carry all he knew.

But past is all his fame. The very spot Where many a time he triumph'd,
is forgot. Near yonder thorn, that lifts its head on high, Where once
the sign-post caught the passing eye, 220 Low lies that house where
nut-brown draughts inspir'd, Where grey-beard mirth and smiling toil
retir'd, Where village statesmen talk'd with looks profound, And news
much older than their ale went round. Imagination fondly stoops to trace
225 The parlour splendours of that festive place; The white-wash'd wall,
the nicely sanded floor, The varnish'd clock that click'd behind the
door; The chest contriv'd a double debt to pay, A bed by night, a chest
of drawers by day; 230

notes

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The pictures plac'd for ornament and use, The twelve good rules, the
royal game of goose; The hearth, except when winter chill'd the day,
With aspen boughs, and flowers, and fennel gay; While broken tea-cups,
wisely kept for show, 235 Rang'd o'er the chimney, glisten'd in a row.

Vain, transitory splendours! Could not all Reprieve the tottering
mansion from its fall! Obscure it sinks, nor shall it more impart An
hour's importance to the poor man's heart; 240 Thither no more the
peasant shall repair To sweet oblivion of his daily care; No more the
farmer's news, the barber's tale, No more the wood-man's ballad shall
prevail; No more the smith his dusky brown shall clear, 245 Relax his
pond'rous strength, and lean to hear; The host himself no longer shall
be found Careful to see the mantling bliss go round; Nor the coy maid,
half willing to be press'd, Shall kiss the cup to pass it to the rest.
250

Yes! let the rich deride, the proud disdain, These simple blessings
of the lowly train; To me more dear, congenial to my heart, One native
charm, than all the gloss of art; Spontaneous joys, where Nature has its
play, 255 The soul adopts, and owns their first-born sway; Lightly they
frolic o'er the vacant mind, Unenvied, unmolested, unconfin'd: But the
long pomp, the midnight masquerade, With all the freaks of wanton wealth
array'd, 260

notes

page 32



In these, ere triflers half their wish obtain, The toiling pleasure
sickens into pain; And, e'en while fashion's brightest arts decoy, The
heart distrusting asks, if this be joy.

Ye friends to truth, ye statesmen, who survey 265 The rich man's joys
increase, the poor's decay, 'Tis yours to judge, how wide the limits
stand Between a splendid and a happy land. Proud swells the tide with
loads of freighted ore, And shouting Folly hails them from her shore;
270 Hoards, e'en beyond the miser's wish abound, And rich men flock from
all the world around. Yet count our gains. This wealth is but a name
That leaves our useful products still the same. Nor so the loss. The man
of wealth and pride 275 Takes up a space that many poor supplied;
Space for his lake, his park's extended bounds, Space for his horses,
equipage, and hounds; The robe that wraps his limbs in silken sloth Has
robb'd the neighbouring fields of half their growth, 280 His seat, where
solitary sports are seen, Indignant spurns the cottage from the green;
Around the world each needful product flies, For all the luxuries the
world supplies: While thus the land adorn'd for pleasure, all 285 In
barren splendour feebly waits the fall.

As some fair female unadorn'd and plain, Secure to please while youth
confirms her reign, Slights every borrow'd charm that dress supplies,
Nor shares with art the triumph of her eyes: 290

notes

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But when those charms are pass'd, for charms are frail, When time
advances, and when lovers fail, She then shines forth, solicitous to
bless, In all the glaring impotence of dress. Thus fares the land, by
luxury betray'd, 295 In nature's simplest charms at first array'd; But
verging to decline, its splendours rise, Its vistas strike, its palaces
surprise; While scourg'd by famine from the smiling land, The mournful
peasant leads his humble band; 300 And while he sinks, without one arm
to save, The country bloomsa garden, and a grave.

Where then, ah! where, shall poverty reside, To 'scape the pressure of
continuous pride? If to some common's fenceless limits stray'd, 305 He
drives his flock to pick the scanty blade, Those fenceless fields the
sons of wealth divide, And e'en the bare-worn common is denied.

If to the city spedWhat waits him there? To see profusion that he
must not share; 310 To see ten thousand baneful arts combin'd To pamper
luxury, and thin mankind; To see those joys the sons of pleasure know
Extorted from his fellow creature's woe. Here, while the courtier
glitters in brocade, 315 There the pale artist plies the sickly trade;
Here, while the proud their long-drawn pomps display, There the black
gibbet glooms beside the way. The dome where Pleasure holds her midnight
reign Here, richly deck'd, admits the gorgeous train; 320

notes

page 34



Tumultuous grandeur crowds the blazing square, The rattling chariots
clash, the torches glare. Sure scenes like these no troubles e'er annoy!
Sure these denote one universal joy! Are these thy serious thoughts?Ah,
turn thine eyes 325 Where the poor houseless shiv'ring female lies. She
once, perhaps, in village plenty bless'd, Has wept at tales of innocence
distress'd; Her modest looks the cottage might adorn, Sweet as the
primrose peeps beneath the thorn; 330 Now lost to all; her friends, her
virtue fled, Near her betrayer's door she lays her head, And, pinch'd
with cold, and shrinking from the shower, With heavy heart deplores that
luckless hour, When idly first, ambitious of the town, 335 She left her
wheel and robes of country brown.

Do thine, sweet AUBURN, thine, the loveliest train, Do thy fair tribes
participate her pain? E'en now, perhaps by cold and hunger led, At proud
men's doors they ask a little bread! 340

Ah, no. To distant climes, a dreary scene, Where half the convex world
intrudes between, Through torrid tracts with fainting steps they go,
Where wild Altama murmurs to their woe. Far different there from all
that charm'd before, 345 The various terrors of that horrid shore; Those
blazing suns that dart a downward ray, And fiercely shed intolerable
day; Those matted woods where birds forget to sing, But silent bats in
drowsy clusters cling; 350

notes

page 35



The Departure

THE DEPARTURE (Thomas Bewick)

Those pois'nous fields with rank luxuriance crown'd, Where the dark
scorpion gathers death around; Where at each step the stranger fears to
wake The rattling terrors of the vengeful snake; Where crouching tigers
wait their hapless prey, 355 And savage men more murd'rous still than
they; While oft in whirls the mad tornado flies, Mingling the ravag'd
landscape with the skies. Far different these from every former scene,
The cooling brook, the grassy-vested green, 360 The breezy covert of the
warbling grove, That only shelter'd thefts of harmless love.

Good heaven! what sorrows gloom'd that parting day, That call'd them
from their native walks away; When the poor exiles, every pleasure
pass'd, 365 Hung round their bowers, and fondly look'd their last, And
took a long farewell, and wish'd in vain For seats like these beyond the
western main; And shudd'ring still to face the distant deep, Return'd
and wept, and still return'd to weep. 370 The good old sire, the first
prepar'd to go To new-found worlds, and wept for others' woe; But for
himself, in conscious virtue brave, He only wish'd for worlds beyond the
grave. His lovely daughter, lovlier in her tears, 375 The fond companion
of his helpless years, Silent went next, neglectful of her charms, And
left a lover's for a father's arms. With louder plaints the mother spoke
her woes, And bless'd the cot where every pleasure rose 380

notes

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And kiss'd her thoughtless babes with many a tear, And clasp'd them
close, in sorrow doubly dear; Whilst her fond husband strove to lend
relief In all the silent manliness of grief.

O Luxury! thou curs'd by Heaven's decree, 385 How ill exchang'd are
things like these for thee! How do thy potions, with insidious joy
Diffuse their pleasures only to destroy! Kingdoms, by thee, to sickly
greatness grown, Boast of a florid vigour not their own; 390 At every
draught more large and large they grow, A bloated mass of rank unwieldy
woe; Till sapp'd their strength, and every part unsound, Down, down they
sink, and spread a ruin round.

E'en now the devastation is begun, 395 And half the business of
destruction done; E'en now, methinks, as pond'ring here I stand, I
see the rural virtues leave the land: Down where yon anchoring vessel
spreads the sail, That idly waiting flaps with ev'ry gale, 400 Downward
they move, a melancholy band, Pass from the shore, and darken all
the strand. Contented toil, and hospitable care, And kind connubial
tenderness, are there; And piety, with wishes plac'd above, 405
And steady loyalty, and faithful love. And thou, sweet Poetry, thou
loveliest maid, Still first to fly where sensual joys invade; Unfit
in these degenerate times of shame, To catch the heart, or strike for
honest fame; 410

notes

page 37



Dear charming nymph, neglected and decried, My shame in crowds, my
solitary pride; Thou source of all my bliss, and all my woe, That
found'st me poor at first, and keep'st me so; Thou guide by which the
nobler arts excel, 415 Thou nurse of every virtue, fare thee well!
Farewell, and Oh! where'er thy voice be tried, On Torno's cliffs, or
Pambamarca's side, Whether where equinoctial fervours glow, Or winter
wraps the polar world in snow, 420 Still let thy voice, prevailing over
time, Redress the rigours of th' inclement clime; Aid slighted truth;
with thy persuasive strain Teach erring man to spurn the rage of gain;
Teach him, that states of native strength possess'd, 425 Though very
poor, may still be very bless'd; That trade's proud empire hastes
to swift decay, As ocean sweeps the labour'd mole away; While
self-dependent power can time defy, As rocks resist the billows and the
sky. 430

notes

Introduction Lyrical and Miscellaneous Notes Poetical Works of Goldsmith
/ Contents / Descriptive /


page 39





LYRICAL AND MISCELLANEOUS PIECES



page 41



LYRICAL AND MISCELLANEOUS PIECES


PART OF A PROLOGUE WRITTEN AND SPOKEN BY THE POET LABERIUS


A ROMAN KNIGHT, WHOM CAESAR FORCED UPON THE STAGE

PRESERVED BY MACROBIUS.

WHAT! no way left to shun th' inglorious stage, And save from infamy my
sinking age! Scarce half alive, oppress'd with many a year, What in
the name of dotage drives me here? A time there was, when glory was my
guide, 5 Nor force nor fraud could turn my steps aside; Unaw'd by pow'r,
and unappall'd by fear, With honest thrift I held my honour dear; But
this vile hour disperses all my store, And all my hoard of honour is
no more. 10 For ah! too partial to my life's decline, Caesar persuades,
submission must be mine; Him I obey, whom heaven itself obeys, Hopeless
of pleasing, yet inclin'd to please. Here then at once, I welcome every
shame, 15 And cancel at threescore a life of fame; No more my titles
shall my children tell, The old buffoon will fit my name as well; This
day beyond its term my fate extends, For life is ended when our honour
ends. 20

notes

page 42



ON A BEAUTIFUL YOUTH STRUCK BLIND WITH LIGHTNING

(Imitated from the Spanish.)

SURE 'twas by Providence design'd, Rather in pity, than in hate, That he
should be, like Cupid, blind, To save him from Narcissus' fate.

notes

page 43



THE GIFT

TO IRIS, IN BOW STREET, CONVENT GARDEN

SAY, cruel IRIS, pretty rake, Dear mercenary beauty, What annual
offering shall I make, Expressive of my duty?

My heart, a victim to thine eyes, 5 Should I at once deliver, Say, would
the angry fair one prize The gift, who slights the giver?

A bill, a jewel, watch, or toy, My rivals giveand let 'em; 10 If gems,
or gold, impart a joy, I'll give themwhen I get 'em.

I'll givebut not the full-blown rose, Or rose-bud more in fashion; Such
short-liv'd offerings but disclose 15 A transitory passion.

I'll give thee something yet unpaid, Not less sincere, than civil: I'll
give theeAh! too charming maid, I'll give theeTo the devil. 30

notes

page 44



THE LOGICIANS REFUTED

IN IMITATION OF DEAN SWIFT

LOGICIANS have but ill defin'd As rational, the human kind; Reason, they
say, belongs to man, But let them prove it if they can. Wise Aristotle
and Smiglecius, 5 By ratiocinations specious, Have strove to prove
with great precision, With definition and division, <DW25> est ratione
praeditum, But for my soul I cannot credit 'em; 10 And must in spite of
them maintain, That man and all his ways are vain; And that this boasted
lord of nature Is both a weak and erring creature; That instinct is
a surer guide 15 Than reason-boasting mortals' pride; And that brute
beasts are far before 'em, Deus est anima brutorum. Who ever knew an
honest brute At law his neighbour prosecute, 20 Bring action for assault
and battery, Or friend beguile with lies and flattery? O'er plains they
ramble unconfin'd, No politics disturb their mind; They eat their meals,
and take their sport, 25 Nor know who's in or out at court;

notes

page 45



They never to the levee go To treat as dearest friend, a foe; They never
importune his grace, Nor ever cringe to men in place; 30 Nor undertake a
dirty job, Nor draw the quill to write for Bb. Fraught with invective
they ne'er go To folks at Pater-Noster-Row; No judges, fiddlers,
dancing-masters, 35 No pick-pockets, or poetasters, Are known to honest
quadrupeds; No single brute his fellow leads. Brutes never meet in
bloody fray, Nor cut each others' throats, for pay. 40 Of beasts, it is
confess'd, the ape Comes nearest us in human shape; Like man he imitates
each fashion, And malice is his ruling passion; But both in malice and
grimaces 45 A courtier any ape surpasses. Behold him humbly cringing
wait Upon a minister of state; View him soon after to inferiors, Aping
the conduct of superiors; 50 He promises with equal air, And to perform
takes equal care. He in his turn finds imitators; At court, the porters,
lacqueys, waiters, Their master's manners still contract, 55 And
footmen, lords and dukes can act. Thus at the court both great an small
Behave alikefor all ape all.

notes

page 46



A SONNET

WEEPING, murmuring, complaining, Lost to every gay delight; MYRA, too
sincere for feigning, Fears th' approaching bridal night.

Yet, why impair thy bright perfection? 5 Or dim thy beauty with a tear?
Had MYRA followed my direction, She long had wanted cause of fear.



STANZAS

ON THE TAKING OF QUEBEC, AND DEATH OF GENERAL WOLFE

AMIDST the clamour of exulting joys, Which triumph forces from the
patriot heart, Grief dares to mingle her soul-piercing voice, And quells
the raptures which from pleasures start.

O WOLFE! to thee a streaming flood of woe, 5 Sighing we pay, and think
e'en conquest dear; QUEBEC in vain shall teach our breast to glow,
Whilst thy sad fate extorts the heart-wrung tear.

Alive the foe thy dreadful vigour fled, And saw thee fall with
joy-pronouncing eyes: 10 Yet they shall know thou conquerest, though
dead Since from thy tomb a thousand heroes rise!

notes

page 47



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.

The needy seldom pass'd her door, 5 And always found her kind; She
freely lent to all the poor, Who left a pledge behind.

She strove the neighbourhood to please, With manners wond'rous winning,
10 And never follow'd wicked ways, Unless when she was sinning.

At church, in silks and satins new, With hoop of monstrous size, She
never slumber'd in her pew, 15 But when she shut her eyes.

Her love was sought, I do aver, By twenty beaux and more; The king
himself has follow'd her, When she has walk'd before. 20

But now her wealth and finery fled, Her hangers-on cut short all; The
doctors found, when she was dead, Her last disorder mortal.

Let us lament, in sorrow sore, 25 For Kent-street well may say, That had
she liv'd a twelve-month more, She had not died to-day.

notes

page 48



DESCRIPTION OF AN AUTHOR'S BEDCHAMBER

WHERE the Red Lion flaring o'er the way, Invites each passing stranger
that can pay; Where Calvert's butt, and Parsons' black champagne,
Regale the drabs and bloods of Drury-lane; There in a lonely room, from
bailiffs snug, 5 The Muse found Scroggen stretch'd beneath a rug; A
window, patch'd with paper, lent a ray, That dimly show'd the state in
which he lay; The sanded floor that grits beneath the tread; The humid
wall with paltry pictures spread: 10 The royal game of goose was there
in view, And the twelve rules the royal martyr drew; The seasons,
fram'd with listing, found a place, And brave prince William show'd his
lamp-black face: The morn was cold, he views with keen desire 15 The
rusty grate unconscious of a fire; With beer and milk arrears the
frieze was scor'd, And five crack'd teacups dress'd the chimney board; A
nightcap deck'd his brows instead of bay, A cap by nighta stocking all
the day! 20

notes

page 49



ON SEEING MRS. ** PERFORM IN THE CHARACTER OF ****

FOR you, bright fair, the nine address their lays, And tune my feeble
voice to sing thy praise. The heartfelt power of every charm divine, Who
can withstand their all-commanding shine? See how she moves along with
every grace, 5 While soul-brought tears steal down each shining
face. She speaks! 'tis rapture all, and nameless bliss, Ye gods! what
transport e'er compared to this. As when in Paphian groves the Queen of
Love With fond complaint addressed the listening Jove, 10 'Twas joy,
and endless blisses all around, And rocks forgot their hardness at the
sound. Then first, at last even Jove was taken in, And felt her charms,
without disguise, within.

notes

page 50



OF THE DEATH OF THE LEFT HON. ***

YE Muses, pour the pitying tear For Pollio snatch'd away; O! had he
liv'd another year! He had not died to-day.

O! were he born to bless mankind, 5 In virtuous times of yore, Heroes
themselves had fallen behind! Whene'er he went before.

How sad the groves and plains appear, And sympathetic sheep; 10 Even
pitying hills would drop a tear! If hills could learn to weep.

His bounty in exalted strain Each bard might well display; Since none
implor'd relief in vain! 15 That went reliev'd away.

And hark! I hear the tuneful throng His obsequies forbid, He still shall
live, shall live as long! As ever dead man did. 20

notes

page 51



AN EPIGRAM

ADDRESSED TO THE GENTLEMEN REFLECTED ON IN THE ROSCIAD, A POEM, BY THE
AUTHOR

Worried with debts and past all hopes of bail, His pen he prostitutes t'
avoid a gaol. ROSCOM.

LET not the hungry Bavius' angry stroke Awake resentment, or your rage
provoke; But pitying his distress, let virtue shine, And giving each
your bounty, let him dine; For thus retain'd, as learned counsel can,
5 Each case, however bad, he'll new japan; And by a quick transition,
plainly show 'Twas no defect of yours, but pocket low, That caused his
putrid kennel to o'erflow.



TO G. C. AND R. L.

'TWAS you, or I, or he, or all together, 'Twas one, both, three of them,
they know not whether; This, I believe, between us great or small, You,
I, he, wrote it not'twas Churchill's all.



TRANSLATION OF A SOUTH AMERICAN ODE

IN all my Enna's beauties blest, Amidst profusion still I pine; For
though she gives me up her breast, Its panting tenant is not mine.

notes

page 52



THE DOUBLE TRANSFORMATION

A TALE

SECLUDED from domestic strife, Jack Book-worm led a college life; A
fellowship at twenty-five Made him the happiest man alive; He drank his
glass and crack'd his joke, 5 And freshmen wonder'd as he spoke.

Such pleasures, unalloy'd with care, Could any accident impair? Could
Cupid's shaft at length transfix Our swain, arriv'd at thirty-six? 10
O had the archer ne'er come down To ravage in a country town! Or Flavia
been content to stop At triumphs in a Fleet-street shop. O had her
eyes forgot to blaze! 15 Or Jack had wanted eyes to gaze. O!But let
exclamation cease, Her presence banish'd all his peace. So with decorum
all things carried; Miss frown'd, and blush'd, and then wasmarried. 20

Need we expose to vulgar sight The raptures of the bridal night? Need we
intrude on hallow'd ground, Or draw the curtains clos'd around? Let it
suffice, that each had charms; 25 He clasp'd a goddess in his arms;

notes

page 53



And though she felt his usage rough, Yet in a man 'twas well enough.

The honey-moon like lightning flew, The second brought its transports
too. 30 A third, a fourth, were not amiss, The fifth was friendship
mix'd with bliss: But when a twelvemonth pass'd away, Jack found his
goddess made of clay; Found half the charms that deck'd her face 35
Arose from powder, shreds, or lace; But still the worst remain'd behind,
That very face had robb'd her mind.

Skill'd in no other arts was she But dressing, patching, repartee; 40
And, just as humour rose or fell, By turns a slattern or a belle; 'Tis
true she dress'd with modern grace, Half naked at a ball or race; But
when at home, at board or bed, 45 Five greasy nightcaps wrapp'd her
head. Could so much beauty condescend To be a dull domestic friend?
Could any curtain-lectures bring To decency so fine a thing? 50 In
short, by night, 'twas fits or fretting; By day, 'twas gadding or
coquetting. Fond to be seen, she kept a bevy Of powder'd coxcombs at her
levy; The 'squire and captain took their stations, 55 And twenty other
near relations;

notes

page 54



Jack suck'd his pipe, and often broke A sigh in suffocating smoke; While
all their hours were pass'd between Insulting repartee or spleen. 60

Thus as her faults each day were known, He thinks her features coarser
grown; He fancies every vice she shows, Or thins her lip, or points her
nose: Whenever rage or envy rise, 65 How wide her mouth, how wild her
eyes! He knows not how, but so it is, Her face is grown a knowing phiz;
And, though her <DW2>s are wond'rous civil, He thinks her ugly as the
devil. 70

Now, to perplex the ravell'd noose, As each a different way pursues,
While sullen or loquacious strife, Promis'd to hold them on for
life, That dire disease, whose ruthless power 75 Withers the beauty's
transient flower: Lo! the small-pox, whose horrid glare Levell'd its
terrors at the fair; And, rifling ev'ry youthful grace, Left but the
remnant of a face. 80

The glass, grown hateful to her sight, Reflected now a perfect fright:
Each former art she vainly tries To bring back lustre to her eyes. In
vain she tries her paste and creams, 85 To smooth her skin, or hide its
seams;

notes

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Her country beaux and city cousins, Lovers no more, flew off by dozens:
The 'squire himself was seen to yield, And e'en the captain quit the
field. 90

Poor Madam, now condemn'd to hack The rest of life with anxious Jack,
Perceiving others fairly flown, Attempted pleasing him alone. Jack soon
was dazzl'd to behold 95 Her present face surpass the old; With modesty
her cheeks are dy'd, Humility displaces pride; For tawdry finery is
seen A person ever neatly clean: 100 No more presuming on her sway, She
learns good-nature every day; Serenely gay, and strict in duty, Jack
finds his wife a perfect beauty.

notes

page 56



A NEW SIMILE

IN THE MANNER OF SWIFT

LONG had I sought in vain to find A likeness for the scribbling kind;
The modern scribbling kind, who write In wit, and sense, and nature's
spite: Till reading, I forget what day on, 5 A chapter out of Tooke's
Pantheon, I think I met with something there, To suit my purpose to a
hair; But let us not proceed too furious, First please to turn to
god Mercurius; 10 You'll find him pictur'd at full length In book the
second, page the tenth: The stress of all my proofs on him I lay, And
now proceed we to our simile.

Imprimis, pray observe his hat, 15 Wings upon either sidemark that.
Well! what is it from thence we gather? Why these denote a brain of
feather. A brain of feather! very right, With wit that's flighty,
learning light; 20 Such as to modern bard's decreed: A just
comparison,proceed.

In the next place, his feet peruse, Wings grow again from both his
shoes; Design'd, no doubt, their part to bear, 25 And waft his godship
through the air;

notes

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And here my simile unites, For in a modern poet's flights, I'm sure it
may be justly said, His feet are useful as his head. 30

Lastly, vouchsafe t'observe his hand, Filled with a snake-encircl'd
wand; By classic authors term'd caduceus, And highly fam'd for several
uses. To witmost wond'rously endu'd, 35 No poppy water half so good;
For let folks only get a touch, Its soporific virtue's such, Though
ne'er so much awake before, That quickly they begin to snore. 40 Add
too, what certain writers tell, With this he drives men's souls to hell.

Now to apply, begin we then; His wand's a modern author's pen; The
serpents round about it twin'd 45 Denote him of the reptile kind; Denote
the rage with which he writes, His frothy slaver, venom'd bites; An
equal semblance still to keep, Alike too both conduce to sleep. 50 This
diff'rence only, as the god Drove souls to Tart'rus with his rod, With
his goosequill the scribbling elf, Instead of others, damns himself.

And here my simile almost tript, 55 Yet grant a word by way of
postscript.

notes

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Moreover, Merc'ry had a failing: Well! what of that? out with
itstealing; In which all modern bards agree, Being each as great a
thief as he: 60 But ev'n this deity's existence Shall lend my simile
assistance. Our modern bards! why what a pox Are they but senseless
stones and blocks?

notes

page 59



Edwin and Angelina

EDWIN AND ANGELINA (T. Stothard)



EDWIN AND ANGELINA

A BALLAD

'TURN, gentle hermit of the dale, And guide my lonely way, To where yon
taper cheers the vale With hospitable ray.

'For here, forlorn and lost I tread, 5 With fainting steps and slow;
Where wilds immeasurably spread, Seem length'ning as I go.'

'Forbear, my son,' the hermit cries, 'To tempt the dangerous gloom; 10
For yonder faithless phantom flies To lure thee to thy doom.

'Here to the houseless child of want My door is open still; And though
my portion is but scant, 15 I give it with good will.

'Then turn to-night, and freely share Whate'er my cell bestows; My rushy
couch, and frugal fare, My blessing and repose. 20

'No flocks that range the valley free To slaughter I condemn: Taught by
that power that pities me, I learn to pity them.

notes

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'But from the mountain's grassy side 25 A guiltless feast I bring; A
scrip with herbs and fruits supplied, And water from the spring.

'Then, pilgrim, turn, thy cares forgo; All earth-born cares are wrong:
30 Man wants but little here below, Nor wants that little long.'

Soft as the dew from heav'n descends, His gentle accents fell: The
modest stranger lowly bends, 35 And follows to the cell.

Far in a wilderness obscure The lonely mansion lay; A refuge to the
neighbouring poor And strangers led astray. 40

No stores beneath its humble thatch Requir'd a master's care; The
wicket, opening with a latch, Receiv'd the harmless pair.

And now, when busy crowds retire 45 To take their evening rest, The
hermit trimm'd his little fire, And cheer'd his pensive guest:

And spread his vegetable store, And gaily press'd, and smil'd; 50 And,
skill'd in legendary lore, The lingering hours beguil'd.

notes

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Around in sympathetic mirth Its tricks the kitten tries; The cricket
chirrups in the hearth; 55 The crackling <DW19> flies.

But nothing could a charm impart To soothe the stranger's woe; For grief
was heavy at his heart, And tears began to flow. 60

His rising cares the hermit spied, With answ'ring care oppress'd; 'And
whence, unhappy youth,' he cried, 'The sorrows of thy breast?

'From better habitations spurn'd, 65 Reluctant dost thou rove; Or grieve
for friendship unreturn'd, Or unregarded love?

'Alas! the joys that fortune brings Are trifling, and decay; 70 And
those who prize the paltry things, More trifling still than they.

'And what is friendship but a name, A charm that lulls to sleep; A shade
that follows wealth or fame, 75 But leaves the wretch to weep?

'And love is still an emptier sound, The modern fair one's jest: On
earth unseen, or only found To warm the turtle's nest. 80

notes

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'For shame, fond youth, thy sorrows hush, And spurn the sex,' he said:
But, while he spoke, a rising blush His love-lorn guest betray'd.

Surpris'd, he sees new beauties rise, 85 Swift mantling to the view;
Like colours o'er the morning skies, As bright, as transient too.

The bashful look, the rising breast, Alternate spread alarms: 90 The
lovely stranger stands confess'd A maid in all her charms.

'And, ah! forgive a stranger rude, A wretch forlorn,' she cried; 'Whose
feet unhallow'd thus intrude 95 Where heaven and you reside.

'But let a maid thy pity share, Whom love has taught to stray; Who seeks
for rest, but finds despair Companion of her way. 100

'My father liv'd beside the Tyne, A wealthy lord was he; And all his
wealth was mark'd as mine, He had but only me.

'To win me from his tender arms 105 Unnumber'd suitors came; Who prais'd
me for imputed charms, And felt or feign'd a flame.

notes

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Each hour a mercenary crowd With richest proffers strove: 110 Amongst
the rest young Edwin bow'd, But never talk'd of love.

'In humble, simplest habit clad, No wealth nor power had he; Wisdom and
worth were all he had, 115 But these were all to me.

'And when beside me in the dale He caroll'd lays of love; His breath
lent fragrance to the gale, And music to the grove. 120

'The blossom opening to the day, The dews of heaven refin'd, Could
nought of purity display, To emulate his mind.

'The dew, the blossom on the tree, 125 With charms inconstant shine;
Their charms were his, but woe to me! Their constancy was mine.

'For still I tried each fickle art, Importunate and vain: 130 And while
his passion touch'd my heart, I triumph'd in his pain.

'Till quite dejected with my scorn, He left me to my pride; And sought a
solitude forlorn, 135 In secret, where he died.

notes

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'But mine the sorrow, mine the fault, And well my life shall pay; I'll
seek the solitude he sought, And stretch me where he lay. 140

'And there forlorn, despairing, hid, I'll lay me down and die; 'Twas so
for me that Edwin did, And so for him will I.'

'Forbid it, heaven!' the hermit cried, 145 And clasp'd her to his
breast: The wondering fair one turn'd to chide, 'Twas Edwin's self that
prest.

'Turn, Angelina, ever dear, My charmer, turn to see 150 Thy own, thy
long-lost Edwin here, Restor'd to love and thee.

'Thus let me hold thee to my heart, And ev'ry care resign; And shall we
never, never part, 155 My lifemy all that's mine?

'No, never from this hour to part, We'll live and love so true; The sigh
that rends thy constant heart Shall break thy Edwin's too.' 160

notes

page 65



ELEGY ON THE DEATH OF A MAD DOG

Good people all, of every sort, Give ear unto my song; And if you find
it wond'rous short, It cannot hold you long.

In Islington there was a man, 5 Of whom the world might say, That still
a godly race he ran, Whene'er he went to pray.

A kind and gentle heart he had, To comfort friends and foes; 10 The
naked every day he clad, When he put on his clothes.

And in that town a dog was found, As many dogs there be, Both mongrel,
puppy, whelp, and hound, 15 And curs of low degree.

This dog and man at first were friends; But when a pique began, The dog,
to gain some private ends, Went mad and bit the man. 20

Around from all the neighbouring streets The wond'ring neighbours ran,
And swore the dog had lost his wits, To bite so good a man.

notes

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The wound it seem'd both sore and sad 25 To every Christian eye; And
while they swore the dog was mad, They swore the man would die.

But soon a wonder came to light, That show'd the rogues they lied: 30
The man recover'd of the bite, The dog it was that died.

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SONG

FROM 'THE VICAR OF WAKEFIELD'

WHEN lovely woman stoops to folly, And finds too late that men betray,
What charm can soothe her melancholy, What art can wash her guilt away?

The only art her guilt to cover, 5 To hide her shame from every eye, To
give repentance to her lover, And wring his bosom, isto die.

notes

page 68



EPILOGUE TO 'THE GOOD NATUR'D MAN'

As puffing quacks some caitiff wretch procure To swear the pill, or
drop, has wrought a cure; Thus on the stage, our play-wrights still
depend For Epilogues and Prologues on some friend, Who knows each art
of coaxing up the town, 5 And make full many a bitter pill go down.
Conscious of this, our bard has gone about, And teas'd each rhyming
friend to help him out. 'An Epiloguethings can't go on without it; It
could not fail, would you but set about it.' 10 'Young man,' cries onea
bard laid up in clover 'Alas, young man, my writing days are over; Let
boys play tricks, and kick the straw; not I: Your brother Doctor there,
perhaps, may try.' 'What I? dear Sir,' the Doctor interposes 15 'What
plant my thistle, Sir, among his roses! No, no; I've other contests
to maintain; To-night I head our troops at Warwick Lane: Go, ask your
manager.' 'Who, me? Your pardon; Those things are not our forte at
Covent Garden.' 20 Our Author's friends, thus plac'd at happy distance,
Give him good words indeed, but no assistance. As some unhappy wight,
at some new play, At the Pit door stands elbowing a way, While oft, with
many a smile, and many a shrug, 25 He eyes the centre, where his friends
sit snug;

notes

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His simp'ring friends, with pleasure in their eyes, Sink as he sinks,
and as he rises rise; He nods, they nod; he cringes, they grimace; But
not a soul will budge to give him place. 30 Since then, unhelp'd, our
bard must now conform 'To 'bide the pelting of this pitiless storm'
Blame where you must, be candid where you can; And be each critic the
Good Natur'd Man.

notes

page 70



EPILOGUE TO 'THE SISTER'

WHAT! five long actsand all to make us wiser! Our authoress sure has
wanted an adviser. Had she consulted me, she should have made Her moral
play a speaking masquerade; Warm'd up each bustling scene, and in her
rage 5 Have emptied all the green-room on the stage. My life on't, this
had kept her play from sinking; Have pleas'd our eyes, and sav'd the
pain of thinking. Well! since she thus has shown her want of skill,
What if I give a masquerade?I will. 10 But how? ay, there's the rub!
(pausing)I've got my cue: The world's a masquerade! the maskers, you,
you, you. (To Boxes, Pit, and Gallery.) , what a group the motley
scene discloses! False wits, false wives, false virgins, and false
spouses! Statesmen with bridles on; and, close beside 'em, 15 Patriots,
in party- suits, that ride 'em. There Hebes, turn'd of fifty,
try once more To raise a flame in Cupids of threescore. These in their
turn, with appetites as keen, Deserting fifty, fasten on fifteen, 20
Miss, not yet full fifteen, with fire uncommon, Flings down her sampler,
and takes up the woman: The little urchin smiles, and spreads her lure,
And tries to kill, ere she's got power to cure. Thus 'tis with alltheir
chief and constant care 25 Is to seem everything but what they are.

notes

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Yon broad, bold, angry spark, I fix my eye on, Who seems to have robb'd
his vizor from the lion; Who frowns, and talks, and swears, with round
parade, Looking as who should say, D! who's afraid? 30 (Mimicking)

Strip but his vizor off, and sure I am You'll find his lionship a
very lamb. Yon politician, famous in debate, Perhaps, to vulgar eyes,
bestrides the state; Yet, when he deigns his real shape t' assume, 35 He
turns old woman, and bestrides a broom. Yon patriot, too, who presses on
your sight, And seems to every gazer all in white, If with a bribe his
candour you attack, He bows, turns round, and whipthe man's a black!
40 Yon critic, toobut whither do I run? If I proceed, our bard will be
undone! Well then a truce, since she requests it too: Do you spare her,
and I'll for once spare you.

page 72



PROLOGUE TO 'ZOBEIDE'

IN these bold times, when Learning's sons explore The distant climate
and the savage shore; When wise Astronomers to India steer, And quit
for Venus, many a brighter here; While Botanists, all cold to smiles
and dimpling, 5 Forsake the fair, and patientlygo simpling; When every
bosom swells with wond'rous scenes, Priests, cannibals, and hoity-toity
queens: Our bard into the general spirit enters, And fits his little
frigate for adventures: 10 With Scythian stores, and trinkets deeply
laden, He this way steers his course, in hopes of trading Yet ere he
lands he 'as ordered me before, To make an observation on the shore.
Where are we driven? our reck'ning sure is lost! 15 This seems a barren
and a dangerous coast.  what a sultry climate am I under! Yon
ill foreboding cloud seems big with thunder. (Upper Gallery.) There
Mangroves spread, and larger than I've seen 'em (Pit.) Here trees of
stately sizeand turtles in 'em 20 (Balconies.) Here ill-condition'd
oranges abound (Stage.) And apples (takes up one and tastes it), bitter
apples strew the ground.

notes

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The place is uninhabited, I fear! I heard a hissingthere are serpents
here! O there the natives area dreadful race! 25 The men have tails,
the women paint the face! No doubt they're all barbarians.Yes, 'tis so,
I'll try to make palaver with them though; (Making signs.) 'Tis best,
however, keeping at a distance. Good Savages, our Captain craves
assistance; 30 Our ship's well stor'd;in yonder creek we've laid her;
His honour is no mercenary trader; This is his first adventure; lend him
aid, Or you may chance to spoil a thriving trade. His goods, he hopes
are prime, and brought from far, 35 Equally fit for gallantry and war.
What! no reply to promises so ample? I'd best step backand order up a
sample.

notes

page 74



THRENODIA AUGUSTALIS:

SACRED TO THE MEMORY OF HER LATE ROYAL HIGHNESS THE PRINCESS DOWAGER OF
WALES.

OVERTUREA SOLEMN DIRGE. AIRTRIO.

ARISE, ye sons of worth, arise, And waken every note of woe; When truth
and virtue reach the skies, 'Tis ours to weep the want below!

CHORUS.

When truth and virtue, etc. 5

MAN SPEAKER.

The praise attending pomp and power, The incense given to kings, Are but
the trappings of an hour Mere transitory things! The base bestow them:
but the good agree 10 To spurn the venal gifts as flattery. But when to
pomp and power are join'd An equal dignity of mind When titles are the
smallest claim When wealth and rank and noble blood, 15 But aid the
power of doing good Then all their trophies last; and flattery turns to
fame.

Bless'd spirit thou, whose fame, just born to bloom Shall spread and
flourish from the tomb, How hast thou left mankind for heaven! 20 Even
now reproach and faction mourn.

notes

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And, wondering how their rage was borne, Request to be forgiven. Alas!
they never had thy hate: Unmov'd in conscious rectitude, 25 Thy towering
mind self-centred stood, Nor wanted man's opinion to be great. In vain,
to charm thy ravish'd sight, A thousand gifts would fortune send; In
vain, to drive thee from the right, 30 A thousand sorrows urg'd thy end:
Like some well-fashion'd arch thy patience stood, And purchas'd strength
from its increasing load. Pain met thee like a friend that set thee
free; Affliction still is virtue's opportunity! 35 Virtue, on herself
relying, Ev'ry passion hush'd to rest, Loses ev'ry pain of dying In the
hopes of being blest. Ev'ry added pang she suffers 40 Some increasing
good bestows, Ev'ry shock that malice offers Only rocks her to repose.

SONG. BY A MANAFFETTUOSO.

Virtue, on herself relying, Ev'ry passion hush'd to rest, 45 Loses ev'ry
pain of dying In the hopes of being blest.

Ev'ry added pang she suffers Some increasing good bestows, Ev'ry shock
that malice offers, 50 Only rocks her to repose.

page 76



WOMAN SPEAKER.

Yet, ah! what terrors frowned upon her fate Death, with its formidable
band, Fever and pain and pale consumptive care, Determin'd took their
stand: 55 Nor did the cruel ravagers design To finish all their efforts
at a blow; But, mischievously slow, They robb'd the relic and defac'd
the shrine. With unavailing grief, 60 Despairing of relief, Her weeping
children round Beheld each hour Death's growing power, And trembled as
he frown'd. 65

As helpless friends who view from shore The labouring ship, and hear
the tempest roar, While winds and waves their wishes cross They
stood, while hope and comfort fail, Not to assist, but to bewail 70 The
inevitable loss. Relentless tyrant, at thy call How do the good, the
virtuous fall! Truth, beauty, worth, and all that most engage, But wake
thy vengeance and provoke thy rage. 75

SONG. BY A MAN.BASSO.STACCATO.SPIRITOSO.

When vice my dart and scythe supply, How great a king of terrors I! If
folly, fraud, your hearts engage, Tremble, ye mortals, at my rage!

page 77



Fall, round me fall, ye little things, 80 Ye statesmen, warriors, poets,
kings; If virtue fail her counsel sage, Tremble, ye mortals, at my rage!

MAN SPEAKER.

Yet let that wisdom, urged by her example, Teach us to estimate what all
must suffer; 85 Let us prize death as the best gift of nature As a safe
inn, where weary travellers, When they have journeyed through a world
of cares, May put off life and be at rest for ever. Groans, weeping
friends, indeed, and gloomy sables, 90 May oft distract us with their
sad solemnity: The preparation is the executioner. Death, when unmasked,
shows me a friendly face, And is a terror only at a distance; For as
the line of life conducts me on 95 To Death's great court, the prospect
seems more fair. 'Tis Nature's kind retreat, that's always open To
take us in when we have drained the cup Of life, or worn our days to
wretchedness. In that secure, serene retreat, 100 Where all the humble,
all the great, Promiscuously recline; Where wildly huddled to the eye,
The beggar's pouch and prince's purple lie, May every bliss be thine.
105 And ah! bless'd spirit, wheresoe'er thy flight, Through rolling
worlds, or fields of liquid light, May cherubs welcome their expected
guest; May saints with songs receive thee to their rest;

page 78



May peace that claimed while here thy warmest love, 110 May blissful
endless peace be thine above!

SONG. BY A WOMAN.AMOROSO.

Lovely, lasting Peace below, Comforter of every woe, Heav'nly born, and
bred on high, To crown the favourites of the sky 115 Lovely, lasting
Peace, appear; This world itself, if thou art here, Is once again with
Eden blest, And man contains it in his breast.

WOMAN SPEAKER.

Our vows are heard! Long, long to mortal eyes, 120 Her soul was fitting
to its kindred skies: Celestial-like her bounty fell, Where modest want
and patient sorrow dwell; Want pass'd for merit at her door, Unseen
the modest were supplied, 125 Her constant pity fed the poor Then only
poor, indeed, the day she died. And oh! for this! while sculpture decks
thy shrine, And art exhausts profusion round, The tribute of a tear
be mine, 130 A simple song, a sigh profound. There Faith shall come, a
pilgrim gray, To bless the tomb that wraps thy clay; And calm Religion
shall repair To dwell a weeping hermit there. 135 Truth, Fortitude, and
Friendship shall agree To blend their virtues while they think of thee.

notes

page 79



AIR. CHORUS.POMPOSO.

Let us, let all the world agree, To profit by resembling thee.



PART II

OVERTUREPASTORALE

MAN SPEAKER.

FAST by that shore where Thames' translucent stream Reflects new glories
on his breast, Where, splendid as the youthful poet's dream, He forms a
scene beyond Elysium blest Where sculptur'd elegance and native grace
5 Unite to stamp the beauties of the place, While sweetly blending still
are seen The wavy lawn, the sloping green While novelty, with cautious
cunning, Through ev'ry maze of fancy running, 10 From China borrows aid
to deck the scene There, sorrowing by the river's glassy bed, Forlorn,
a rural bard complain'd, All whom Augusta's bounty fed, All whom her
clemency sustain'd; 15 The good old sire, unconscious of decay, The
modest matron, clad in homespun gray, The military boy, the orphan'd
maid, The shatter'd veteran, now first dismay'd;

page 80



These sadly join beside the murmuring deep, 20 And, as they view The
towers of Kew, Call on their mistressnow no moreand weep.

CHORUS.AFFETTUOSO.LARGO.

Ye shady walks, ye waving greens, Ye nodding towers, ye fairy scenes 25
Let all your echoes now deplore That she who form'd your beauties is no
more.

MAN SPEAKER.

First of the train the patient rustic came, Whose callous hand had
form'd the scene, Bending at once with sorrow and with age, 30 With many
a tear and many a sigh between; 'And where,' he cried, 'shall now my
babes have bread, Or how shall age support its feeble fire? No lord
will take me now, my vigour fled, Nor can my strength perform what they
require; 35 Each grudging master keeps the labourer bare A sleek and
idle race is all their care. My noble mistress thought not so: Her
bounty, like the morning dew, Unseen, though constant, used to flow; 40
And as my strength decay'd, her bounty grew.'

WOMAN SPEAKER.

In decent dress, and coarsely clean, The pious matron next was seen

notes

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Clasp'd in her hand a godly book was borne, By use and daily meditation
worn; 45 That decent dress, this holy guide, Augusta's care had well
supplied. 'And ah!' she cries, all woe-begone, 'What now remains for me?
Oh! where shall weeping want repair, 50 To ask for charity? Too late in
life for me to ask, And shame prevents the deed, And tardy, tardy are
the times To succour, should I need. 55 But all my wants, before I
spoke, Were to my Mistress known; She still reliev'd, nor sought my
praise, Contented with her own. But ev'ry day her name I'll bless, 60
My morning prayer, my evening song, I'll praise her while my life shall
last, A life that cannot last me long.'

SONG. BY A WOMAN.

Each day, each hour, her name I'll bless My morning and my evening
song; 65 And when in death my vows shall cease, My children shall the
note prolong.

MAN SPEAKER.

The hardy veteran after struck the sight, Scarr'd, mangled, maim'd in
every part, Lopp'd of his limbs in many a gallant fight, 70 In nought
entireexcept his heart.

page 82



Mute for a while, and sullenly distress'd, At last the impetuous sorrow
fir'd his breast. 'Wild is the whirlwind rolling O'er Afric's sandy
plain, 75 And wild the tempest howling Along the billow'd main: But
every danger felt before The raging deep, the whirlwind's roar Less
dreadful struck me with dismay, 80 Than what I feel this fatal day. Oh,
let me fly a land that spurns the brave, Oswego's dreary shores shall be
my grave; I'll seek that less inhospitable coast, And lay my body where
my limbs were lost.' 85

SONG. BY A MAN.BASSO. SPIRITOSO.

Old Edward's sons, unknown to yield, Shall crowd from Crecy's laurell'd
field, To do thy memory right; For thine and Britain's wrongs they feel,
Again they snatch the gleamy steel, 90 And wish the avenging fight.

WOMAN SPEAKER.

In innocence and youth complaining, Next appear'd a lovely maid,
Affliction o'er each feature reigning, Kindly came in beauty's aid; 95
Every grace that grief dispenses, Every glance that warms the soul, In
sweet succession charmed the senses, While pity harmonized the whole.

notes

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'The garland of beauty''tis thus she would say 100 'No more shall my
crook or my temples adorn, I'll not wear a garlandAugusta's away, I'll
not wear a garland until she return; But alas! that return I never shall
see, The echoes of Thames shall my sorrows proclaim, 105 There promised
a lover to comebut, O me! 'Twas death,'twas the death of my mistress
that came. But ever, for ever, her image shall last, I'll strip all
the spring of its earliest bloom; On her grave shall the cowslip and
primrose be cast, 110 And the new-blossomed thorn shall whiten her
tomb.'

SONG. BY A WOMAN.PASTORALE.

With garlands of beauty the queen of the May No more will her crook or
her temples adorn; For who'd wear a garland when she is away, When she
is remov'd, and shall never return. 115

On the grave of Augusta these garlands be plac'd, We'll rifle the spring
of its earliest bloom, And there shall the cowslip and primrose be cast,
And the new-blossom'd thorn shall whiten her tomb.

CHORUS.ALTRO MODO.

On the grave of Augusta this garland be plac'd, 120 We'll rifle the
spring of its earliest bloom, And there shall the cowslip and primrose
be cast, And the tears of her country shall water her tomb.

notes

page 84



SONG

FROM 'SHE STOOPS TO CONQUER'

LET school-masters 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, 5 Their Lethes,
their Styxes, and Stygians: Their Quis, and their Quaes, 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,
10 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, 15 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. 20 Let some cry up woodcock or hare, Your bustards, your ducks,
and your widgeons; But of all the birds in the air, Here's a health to
the Three Jolly Pigeons. Toroddle, toroddle, toroll.

notes

page 85



EPILOGUE TO 'SHE STOOPS TO CONQUER'

WELL, having stoop'd to conquer with success, And gain'd a husband
without aid from dress, Still, as a Bar-maid, I could wish it too, As
I have conquer'd him, to conquer you: And let me say, for all your
resolution, 5 That pretty Bar-maids have done execution. Our life is all
a play, compos'd to please, 'We have our exits and our entrances.' The
First Act shows the simple country maid, Harmless and young, of ev'ry
thing afraid; 10 Blushes when hir'd, and, with unmeaning action, 'I
hopes as how to give you satisfaction.' Her Second Act displays a
livelier scene Th' unblushing Bar-maid of a country inn, Who whisks
about the house, at market caters, 15 Talks loud, coquets the guests,
and scolds the waiters. Next the scene shifts to town, and there she
soars, The chop-house toast of ogling connoisseurs. On 'Squires and
Cits she there displays her arts, And on the gridiron broils her
lovers' hearts: 20 And as she smiles, her triumphs to complete, Even
Common-Councilmen forget to eat. The Fourth Act shows her wedded to the
'Squire, And Madam now begins to hold it higher; Pretends to taste, at
Operas cries caro, 25 And quits her Nancy Dawson, for Che faro, Doats
upon dancing, and in all her pride, Swims round the room, the Heinel of
Cheapside;

notes

page 86



Ogles and leers with artificial skill, 'Till having lost in age the
power to kill, 30 She sits all night at cards, and ogles at spadille.
Such, through our lives, the eventful history The Fifth and Last Act
still remains for me. The Bar-maid now for your protection prays. Turns
Female Barrister, and pleads for Bayes. 35

notes

page 87



Portrait of Goldsmith after Reynolds PORTRAIT OF GOLDSMITH AFTER
REYNOLDS (Vignette to 'Retaliation')



RETALIATION

A POEM

OF old, when Scarron 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 shall be venison, just fresh from the plains; 5 Our Burke
shall be tongue, with a garnish of brains; Our Will shall be wild-fowl,
of excellent flavour, And Dick with his pepper shall heighten their
savour: Our Cumberland's sweet-bread its place shall obtain, And Douglas
is pudding, substantial and plain: 10 Our Garrick's 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; That
Hickey's a capon, and by the same rule, 15 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; 20 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, 25 At least, in six weeks, I could not find 'em out;

notes

page 88



Yet some have declar'd, and it can't be denied 'em, That sly-boots was
cursedly cunning to hide 'em.

Here lies our good Edmund, whose genius was such, We scarcely can praise
it, or blame it too much; 30 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
to lend him a vote; Who, too deep for his hearers, still went on
refining, 35 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. 40 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, 45 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. 50

Here lies honest Richard, whose fate I must sigh at; Alas, that such
frolic should now be so quiet! What spirits were his! what wit and what
whim! Now breaking a jest, and now breaking a limb;

notes

page 89



Now wrangling and grumbling to keep up the ball, 55 Now teasing and
vexing, yet laughing at all! In short, so provoking a devil was Dick,
That we wish'd him full ten times a day at Old Nick; But, missing his
mirth and agreeable vein, As often we wish'd to have Dick back again. 60

Here 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. His gallants are all
faultless, his women divine, 65 And comedy wonders at being so fine;
Like a tragedy queen he has dizen'd her out, Or rather like tragedy
giving a rout. His fools have their follies so lost in a crowd Of
virtues and feelings, that folly grows proud; 70 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 75 To find out men's virtues, and finding them few, Quite sick
of pursuing each troublesome elf, He grew lazy at last, and drew from
himself?

Here Douglas retires, from his toils to relax, The scourge of impostors,
the terror of quacks: 80 Come, all ye quack bards, and ye quacking
divines, Come, and dance on the spot where your tyrant reclines: When
Satire and Censure encircl'd his throne, I fear'd for your safety, I
fear'd for my own;

notes

page 90



But now he is gone, and we want a detector, 85 Our Dodds shall be pious,
our Kenricks shall lecture; Macpherson write bombast, and call it a
style, Our Townshend make speeches, and I shall compile; New Lauders and
Bowers the Tweed shall cross over, No countryman living their tricks to
discover; 90 Detection her taper shall quench to a spark, And Scotchman
meet Scotchman, and cheat in the dark.

Here lies David Garrick, describe me, who can, An abridgment of all that
was pleasant in man; As an actor, confess'd without rival to shine: 95
As a wit, if not first, in the very first line: Yet, with talents like
these, and an excellent heart, The man had his failings, a dupe to his
art. Like an ill-judging beauty, his colours he spread, And beplaster'd
with rouge his own natural red. 100 On the stage he was natural, simple,
affecting; 'Twas only that when he was off he was acting. With no reason
on earth to go out of his way, He turn'd and he varied full ten times a
day. Though secure of our hearts, yet confoundedly sick 105 If they
were not his own by finessing and trick, He cast off his friends, as
a huntsman his pack, For he knew when he pleas'd he could whistle them
back. Of praise a mere glutton, he swallow'd what came, And the puff
of a dunce he mistook it for fame; 110 Till his relish grown callous,
almost to disease, Who pepper'd the highest was surest to please.

notes

page 91



But let us be candid, and speak out our mind, If dunces applauded, he
paid them in kind. Ye Kenricks, ye Kellys, and Woodfalls so grave,
115 What a commerce was yours, while you got and you gave! How did
Grub-street re-echo the shouts 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: 120 Those poets, who owe their
best fame to his skill, Shall still be his flatterers, go where he will.
Old Shakespeare, receive him, with praise and with love, And Beaumonts
and Bens be his Kellys above.

Here Hickey reclines, a most blunt, pleasant creature, 125 And slander
itself must allow him good nature: He cherish'd his friend, and he
relish'd a bumper; Yet one fault he had, and that one was a thumper.
Perhaps you may ask if the man was a miser! I answer, no, no, for he
always was wiser: 130 Too courteous, perhaps, or obligingly flat? His
very worst foe can't accuse him of that: Perhaps he confided in men
as they go, And so was too foolishly honest! Ah no! Then what was his
failing? come, tell it, and burn ye! 135 He was, could he help it?a
special attorney.

Here Reynolds is laid, and, to tell you my mind, He has not left a
better or wiser behind: His pencil was striking, resistless, and grand;
His manners were gentle, complying, and bland; 140

notes

page 92



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, Correggios, and stuff, 145 He shifted his trumpet,
and only took snuff.


POSTSCRIPT

After the Fourth Edition of this Poem was printed, the Publisher
received an Epitaph on Mr. Whitefoord, from a friend of the late Doctor
Goldsmith, inclosed in a letter, of which the following is an abstract:

'I have in my possession a sheet of paper, containing near forty lines
in the Doctor's own hand-writing: there are many scattered, broken
verses, on Sir Jos. Reynolds, Counsellor Ridge, Mr. Beauclerk, and Mr.
Whitefoord. The Epitaph on the last-mentioned gentleman is the only one
that is finished, and therefore I have copied it, that you may add it
to the next edition. It is a striking proof of Doctor Goldsmith's
good-nature. I saw this sheet of paper in the Doctor's room, five or six
days before he died; and, as I had got all the other Epitaphs, I asked
him if I might take it. "In truth you may, my Boy," (replied he,) "for
it will be of no use to me where I am going."'

HERE Whitefoord reclines, and deny it who can, Though he merrily liv'd,
he is now a 'grave' man; Rare compound of oddity, frolic, and fun! Who
relish'd a joke, and rejoic'd in a pun; 150

notes

page 93



Whose temper was generous, open, sincere; A stranger to flatt'ry, a
stranger to fear; Who scatter'd around wit and humour at will; Whose
daily bons mots half a column might fill; A Scotchman, from pride and
from prejudice free; 155 A scholar, yet surely no pedant was he.

What pity, alas! that so lib'ral a mind Should so long be to news-paper
essays confin'd; Who perhaps to the summit of science could soar, Yet
content 'if the table he set on a roar'; 160 Whose talents to fill any
station were fit, Yet happy if Woodfall confess'd him a wit.

Ye news-paper witlings! ye pert scribbling folks Who copied his squibs,
and re-echoed his jokes; Ye tame imitators, ye servile herd, come, 165
Still follow your master, and visit his tomb: To deck it, bring with you
festoons of the vine, And copious libations bestow on his shrine: Then
strew all around it (you can do no less) Cross-readings, Ship-news, and
Mistakes of the Press. #FF0080170


Merry Whitefoord, farewell! for thy sake I admit That a Scot may have
humour, I had almost said wit: This debt to thy mem'ry I cannot refuse,
'Thou best humour'd man with the worst humour'd muse.'

notes

page 94



SONG

INTENDED TO HAVE BEEN SUNG IN '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: 5 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.



TRANSLATION

CHASTE are their instincts, faithful is their fire, No foreign beauty
tempts to false desire; The snow-white vesture, and the glittering
crown, The simple plumage, or the glossy down Prompt not their
loves:the patriot bird pursues 5 His well acquainted tints, and
kindred hues. Hence through their tribes no mix'd polluted flame, No
monster-breed to mark the groves with shame; But the chaste blackbird,
to its partner true, Thinks black alone is beauty's favourite hue.
10 The nightingale, with mutual passion blest, Sings to its mate, and
nightly charms the nest; While the dark owl to court its partner flies,
And owns its offspring in their yellow eyes.

page 95



THE HAUNCH OF VENISON

A POETICAL EPISTLE TO LORD CLARE

THANKS, my Lord, for your venison, for finer or fatter Never rang'd in a
forest, or smok'd in a platter; The haunch was a picture for painters
to study, The fat was so white, and the lean was so ruddy. Though my
stomach was sharp, I could scarce help regretting 5 To spoil such a
delicate picture by eating; I had thoughts, in my chambers, to place it
in view, To be shown to my friends as a piece of virtù; As in some Irish
houses, where things are so so, One gammon of bacon hangs up for a show:
10 But for eating a rasher of what they take pride in, They'd as soon
think of eating the pan it is fried in. But holdlet me pauseDon't
I hear you pronounce This tale of the bacon a damnable bounce? Well,
suppose it a bouncesure a poet may try, 15 By a bounce now and then, to
get courage to fly.

But, my Lord, it's no bounce: I protest in my turn, It's a truthand
your Lordship may ask Mr. Byrne. To go on with my taleas I gaz'd on the
haunch, I thought of a friend that was trusty and staunch; 20 So I cut
it, and sent it to Reynolds undress'd, To paint it, or eat it, just as
he lik'd best. Of the neck and the breast I had next to dispose; 'Twas a
neck and a breastthat might rival Mr's:

notes

page 96



But in parting with these I was puzzled again, 25 With the how, and the
who, and the where, and the when. There's Hd, and Cy, and Hrth,
and Hff, I think they love venisonI know they love beef; There's my
countryman HggnsOh! let him alone, For making a blunder, or picking
a bone. 30 But hang itto poets who seldom can eat, Your very good
mutton's a very good treat; Such dainties to them, their health it might
hurt, It's like sending them ruffles, when wanting a shirt. While thus
I debated, in reverie centred, 35 An acquaintance, a friend as he call'd
himself, enter'd; An under-bred, fine-spoken fellow was he, And he
smil'd as he look'd at the venison and me. 'What have we got here?Why,
this is good eating! Your own, I supposeor is it in waiting?' 40
'Why, whose should it be?' cried I with a flounce, 'I get these things
often;'but that was a bounce: 'Some lords, my acquaintance, that settle
the nation, Are pleas'd to be kindbut I hate ostentation.'

'If that be the case, then,' cried he, very gay, 45 'I'm glad I have
taken this house in my way. To-morrow you take a poor dinner with me; No
wordsI insist on'tprecisely at three: We'll have Johnson, and Burke;
all the wits will be there; My acquaintance is slight, or I'd ask my
Lord Clare. 50 And now that I think on't, as I am a sinner! We wanted
this venison to make out the dinner.

notes

page 97



What say youa pasty? it shall, and it must, And my wife, little Kitty,
is famous for crust. Here, porter!this venison with me to Mile-end; 55
No stirringI begmy dear friendmy dear friend! Thus snatching his
hat, he brush'd off like the wind, And the porter and eatables follow'd
behind.

Left alone to reflect, having emptied my shelf, 'And nobody with me at
sea but myself'; 60 Though I could not help thinking my gentleman hasty,
Yet Johnson, and Burke, and a good venison pasty, Were things that I
never dislik'd in my life, Though clogg'd with a coxcomb, and Kitty his
wife. So next day, in due splendour to make my approach, 65 I drove to
his door in my own hackney coach.

When come to the place where we all were to dine, (A chair-lumber'd
closet just twelve feet by nine:) My friend bade me welcome, but struck
me quite dumb, With tidings that Johnson and Burke would not come;
70 'For I knew it,' he cried, 'both eternally fail, The one with his
speeches, and t'other with Thrale; But no matter, I'll warrant we'll
make up the party With two full as clever, and ten times as hearty. The
one is a Scotchman, the other a Jew, 75 They['re] both of them merry
and authors like you; The one writes the Snarler, the other the Scourge;
Some think he writes Cinnahe owns to Panurge.' While thus he describ'd
them by trade, and by name, They enter'd and dinner was serv'd as they
came. 80

At the top a fried liver and bacon were seen, At the bottom was tripe in
a swinging tureen;

notes

page 98



At the sides there was spinach and pudding made hot; In the middle a
place where the pastywas not. Now, my Lord as for tripe, it's my utter
aversion, 85 And your bacon I hate like a Turk or a Persian; So there
I sat stuck, like a horse in a pound, While the bacon and liver went
merrily round. But what vex'd me most was that d'd Scottish rogue, With
his long-winded speeches, his smiles and his brogue; 90 And, 'Madam,'
quoth he, 'may this bit be my poison, A prettier dinner I never set eyes
on; Pray a slice of your liver, though may I be curs'd, But I've eat of
your tripe till I'm ready to burst.' 'The tripe,' quoth the Jew, with
his chocolate cheek, 95 'I could dine on this tripe seven days in the
week: I like these here dinners so pretty and small; But your friend
there, the Doctor, eats nothing at all.' 'OOh!' quoth my friend, 'he'll
come on in a trice, He's keeping a corner for something that's nice: 100
There's a pasty''A pasty!' repeated the Jew, 'I don't care if I keep a
corner for't too.' 'What the de'il, mon, a pasty!' re-echoed the Scot,
'Though splitting, I'll still keep a corner for thot.' 'We'll all keep
a corner,' the lady cried out; 105 'We'll all keep a corner,' was echoed
about. While thus we resolv'd, and the pasty delay'd, With look that
quite petrified, enter'd the maid; A visage so sad, and so pale with
affright, Wak'd Priam in drawing his curtains by night. 110 But we
quickly found out, for who could mistake her? That she came with some
terrible news from the baker:

notes

page 99



And so it fell out, for that negligent sloven Had shut out the pasty on
shutting his oven Sad Philomel thusbut let similes drop 115 And now
that I think on't, the story may stop. To be plain, my good Lord, it's
but labour misplac'd To send such good verses to one of your
taste; You've got an odd somethinga kind of discerning A relisha
tastesicken'd over by learning; 120 At least, it's your temper, as very
well known, That you think very slightly of all that's your own: So,
perhaps, in your habits of thinking amiss, You may make a mistake, and
think slightly of this.

notes

page 100



EPITAPH ON THOMAS PARNELL

THIS tomb, inscrib'd to gentle Parnell's name, May speak our gratitude,
but not his fame. What heart but feels his sweetly-moral lay, That leads
to truth through pleasure's flowery way! Celestial themes confess'd his
tuneful aid; 5 And Heaven, that lent him genius, was repaid. Needless
to him the tribute we bestow The transitory breath of fame below: More
lasting rapture from his works shall rise, While Converts thank their
poet in the skies. 10



THE CLOWN'S REPLY

JOHN TROTT was desired by two witty peers To tell them the reason
why asses had ears? 'An't please you,' quoth John, 'I'm not given to
letters, Nor dare I pretend to know more than my betters; Howe'er,
from this time I shall ne'er see your graces, 5 As I hope to be saved!
without thinking on asses.'



EPITAPH ON EDWARD PURDON

HERE lies poor Ned Purdon, from misery freed, Who long was a
bookseller's hack; He led such a damnable life in this world, I don't
think he'll wish to come back.

notes

page 101



EPILOGUE FOR MR. LEE LEWES

HOLD! Prompter, hold! a word before your nonsense; I'd speak a word or
two, to ease my conscience. My pride forbids it ever should be said, My
heels eclips'd the honours of my head; That I found humour in a piebald
vest, 5 Or ever thought that jumping was a jest. (Takes off his mask.)
Whence, and what art thou, visionary birth? Nature disowns, and reason
scorns thy mirth, In thy black aspect every passion sleeps, The joy that
dimples, and the woe that weeps. 10 How has thou fill'd the scene with
all thy brood, Of fools pursuing, and of fools pursu'd! Whose ins and
outs no ray of sense discloses, Whose only plot it is to break our
noses; Whilst from below the trap-door Demons rise, 15 And from above
the dangling deities; And shall I mix in this unhallow'd crew? May
rosined lightning blast me, if I do! NoI will act, I'll vindicate the
stage: Shakespeare himself shall feel my tragic rage. 20 Off! off! vile
trappings! a new passion reigns! The madd'ning monarch revels in my
veins. Oh! for a Richard's voice to catch the theme: 'Give me another
horse! bind up my wounds!soft 'twas but a dream.' Aye, 'twas but a
dream, for now there's no retreating: 25 If I cease Harlequin, I cease
from eating.

notes

page 102



'Twas thus that Aesop's stag, a creature blameless, Yet something vain,
like one that shall be nameless, Once on the margin of a fountain stood,
And cavill'd at his image in the flood. 30 'The deuce confound,' he
cries, 'these drumstick shanks, They never have my gratitude nor thanks;
They're perfectly disgraceful! strike me dead! But for a head, yes,
yes, I have a head. How piercing is that eye! how sleek that brow! 35
My horns! I'm told horns are the fashion now.' Whilst thus he spoke,
astonish'd, to his view, Near, and more near, the hounds and huntsmen
drew. 'Hoicks! hark forward!' came thund'ring from behind, He bounds
aloft, outstrips the fleeting wind: 40 He quits the woods, and tries the
beaten ways; He starts, he pants, he takes the circling maze. At length
his silly head, so priz'd before, Is taught his former folly to deplore;
Whilst his strong limbs conspire to set him free, 45 And at one bound he
saves himself,like me. (Taking a jump through the stage door.)

page 103



EPILOGUE

INTENDED TO HAVE BEEN SPOKEN FOR 'SHE STOOPS TO CONQUER'

Enter MRS. BULKLEY, who curtsies very low as beginning to speak. Then
enter MISS CATLEY, who stands full before her, and curtsies to the
audience.

MRS. BULKLEY.

HOLD, Ma'am, your pardon. What's your business here?

MISS CATLEY.

The Epilogue.

MRS. BULKLEY.

The Epilogue?

MISS CATLEY.

Yes, the Epilogue, my dear.

MRS. BULKLEY.

Sure you mistake, Ma'am. The Epilogue, I bring it.

MISS CATLEY.

Excuse me, Ma'am. The Author bid me sing it.

Recitative.

Ye beaux and belles, that form this splendid ring, 5 Suspend your
conversation while I sing.

MRS. BULKLEY.

Why, sure the girl's beside herself: an Epilogue of singing, A hopeful
end indeed to such a blest beginning.

page 104



Besides, a singer in a comic set! Excuse me, Ma'am, I know the
etiquette. 10

MISS CATLEY.

What if we leave it to the House?

MRS. BULKLEY.

The House!Agreed.

MISS CATLEY.

Agreed.

MRS. BULKLEY.

And she, whose party's largest, shall proceed. And first I hope, you'll
readily agree I've all the critics and the wits for me. They, I am sure,
will answer my commands: 15 Ye candid-judging few, hold up your hands.
What! no return? I find too late, I fear, That modern judges seldom
enter here.

MISS CATLEY.

I'm for a different set.Old men, whose trade is Still to gallant and
dangle with the ladies; 20

Recitative.

Who mump their passion, and who, grimly smiling, Still thus address the
fair with voice beguiling:

AirCotillon.

Turn, my fairest, turn, if ever Strephon caught thy ravish'd eye; Pity
take on your swain so clever, 25 Who without your aid must die.

notes

page 105



Yes, I shall die, hu, hu, hu, hu! Yes, I must die, ho, ho, ho, ho! (Da
capo.)

MRS. BULKLEY.

Let all the old pay homage to your merit; Give me the young, the gay,
the men of spirit. 30 Ye travell'd tribe, ye macaroni train, Of French
friseurs, and nosegays, justly vain, Who take a trip to Paris once
a year To dress, and look like awkward Frenchmen here, Lend me your
hands.Oh! fatal news to tell: 35 Their hands are only lent to the
Heinel.

MISS CATLEY.

Ay, take your travellers, travellers indeed! Give me my bonny Scot, that
travels from the Tweed. Where are the chiels? Ah! Ah, I well discern The
smiling looks of each bewitching bairn. 40

AirA bonny young lad is my Jockey.

I'll sing to amuse you by night and by day, And be unco merry when you
are but gay; When you with your bagpipes are ready to play, My voice
shall be ready to carol away With Sandy, and Sawney, and Jockey 45 With
Sawney, and Jarvie, and Jockey.

MRS. BULKLEY.

Ye gamesters, who, so eager in pursuit, Make but of all your fortune one
va toute;

notes

page 106



Ye jockey tribe, whose stock of words are few, 'I hold the odds.Done,
done, with you, with you;' 50 Ye barristers, so fluent with grimace,
'My Lord,your Lordship misconceives the case;' Doctors, who cough and
answer every misfortuner, 'I wish I'd been called in a little sooner:'
Assist my cause with hands and voices hearty; 55 Come, end the contest
here, and aid my party.


MISS CATLEY.

AirBallinamony.

Ye brave Irish lads, hark away to the crack, Assist me, I pray, in this
woful attack; For sure I don't wrong you, you seldom are slack, When the
ladies are calling, to blush and hang back; 60 For you're always polite
and attentive, Still to amuse us inventive, And death is your only
preventive: Your hands and your voices for me.

MRS. BULKLEY.

Well, Madam, what if, after all this sparring, 65 We both agree, like
friends, to end our jarring?

MISS CATLEY.

And that our friendship may remain unbroken, What if we leave the
Epilogue unspoken?

MRS. BULKLEY.

Agreed.

page 107



MISS CATLEY.

Agreed.

MRS. BULKLEY.

And now with late repentance, Un-epilogued the Poet waits his sentence.
70 Condemn the stubborn fool who can't submit To thrive by flattery,
though he starves by wit. (Exeunt.)

page 108



EPILOGUE

INTENDED TO HAVE BEEN SPOKEN FOR 'SHE STOOPS TO CONQUER'

THERE is a place, so Ariosto sings, A treasury for lost and missing
things; Lost human wits have places assign'd them, And they, who
lose their senses, there may find them. But where's this place, this
storehouse of the age? 5 The Moon, says he:but I affirm the Stage:
At least in many things, I think, I see His lunar, and our mimic world
agree. Both shine at night, for, but at Foote's alone, We scarce exhibit
till the sun goes down. 10 Both prone to change, no settled limits fix,
And sure the folks of both are lunatics. But in this parallel my best
pretence is, That mortals visit both to find their senses. To this
strange spot, Rakes, Macaronies, Cits 15 Come thronging to collect their
scatter'd wits. The gay coquette, who ogles all the day, Comes here at
night, and goes a prude away. Hither the affected city dame advancing,
Who sighs for operas, and dotes on dancing, 20 Taught by our art her
ridicule to pause on, Quits the Ballet, and calls for Nancy Dawson. The
Gamester too, whose wit's all high or low, Oft risks his fortune on one
desperate throw, Comes here to saunter, having made his bets, 25 Finds
his lost senses out, and pay his debts.

notes

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The Mohawk toowith angry phrases stored, As 'D , Sir,' and 'Sir, I
wear a sword'; Here lesson'd for a while, and hence retreating, Goes
out, affronts his man, and takes a beating. 30 Here come the sons of
scandal and of news, But find no sensefor they had none to lose. Of all
the tribe here wanting an adviser Our Author's the least likely to grow
wiser; Has he not seen how you your favour place, 35 On sentimental
Queens and Lords in lace? Without a star, a coronet or garter, How
can the piece expect or hope for quarter? No high-life scenes, no
sentiment:the creature Still stoops among the low to copy nature. 40
Yes, he's far gone:and yet some pity fix, The English laws forbid to
punish lunatics.

notes

Descriptive Poems The Captivity Notes

Poetical Works of Goldsmith / Contents / Lyrical and Miscellaneous /


page 111



THE CAPTIVITY

AN

ORATORIO



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THE PERSONS.

FIRST ISRAELITISH PROPHET. SECOND ISRAELITISH PROPHET. ISRAELITISH
WOMAN. FIRST CHALDEAN PRIEST. SECOND CHALDEAN PRIEST. CHALDEAN WOMAN.
CHORUS OF YOUTHS AND VIRGINS.


SCENEThe Banks of the River Euphrates, near Babylon.

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THE CAPTIVITY

ACT ISCENE I.

Israelites sitting on the Banks of the Euphrates.

FIRST PROPHET.

RECITATIVE.

YE captive tribes, that hourly work and weep Where flows Euphrates
murmuring to the deep, Suspend awhile the task, the tear suspend, And
turn to God, your Father and your Friend. Insulted, chain'd, and all the
world a foe, 5 Our God alone is all we boast below.

FIRST PROPHET.

AIR.

Our God is all we boast below, To him we turn our eyes; And every added
weight of woe Shall make our homage rise. 10

SECOND PROPHET.

And though no temple richly drest, Nor sacrifice is here; We'll make his
temple in our breast, And offer up a tear. [The first stanza repeated by
the Chorus.


notes

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SECOND PROPHET.

RECITATIVE.

That strain once more; it bids remembrance rise, 15 And brings my
long-lost country to mine eyes. Ye fields of Sharon, dress'd in flow'ry
pride, Ye plains where Jordan rolls its glassy tide, Ye hills of
Lebanon, with cedars crown'd, Ye Gilead groves, that fling perfumes
around, 20 These hills how sweet! Those plains how wond'rous fair, But
sweeter still, when Heaven was with us there!

AIR.

O Memory, thou fond deceiver, Still importunate and vain; To former joys
recurring ever, 25 And turning all the past to pain;

Hence intruder, most distressing, Seek the happy and the free: The
wretch who wants each other blessing, Ever wants a friend in thee. 30

FIRST PROPHET.

RECITATIVE.

Yet, why complain? What, though by bonds confin'd, Should bonds repress
the vigour of the mind? Have we not cause for triumph when we see
Ourselves alone from idol-worship free? Are not this very morn those
feasts begun? 35 Where prostrate error hails the rising sun? Do not our
tyrant lords this day ordain For superstitious rites and mirth profane?

notes

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And should we mourn? Should coward virtue fly, When impious folly rears
her front on high? 40 No; rather let us triumph still the more, And as
our fortune sinks, our wishes soar.

AIR.

The triumphs that on vice attend Shall ever in confusion end; The good
man suffers but to gain, 45 And every virtue springs from pain:

As aromatic plants bestow No spicy fragrance while they grow; But
crush'd, or trodden to the ground, Diffuse their balmy sweets around. 50

SECOND PROPHET.

RECITATIVE.

But hush, my sons, our tyrant lords are near; The sounds of barb'rous
pleasure strike mine ear; Triumphant music floats along the vale; Near,
nearer still, it gathers on the gale; The growing sound their swift
approach declares; 55 Desist, my sons, nor mix the strain with theirs.

Enter CHALDEAN PRIESTS attended. FIRST PRIEST.

AIR.

Come on, my companions, the triumph display; Let rapture the minutes
employ; The sun calls us out on this festival day, And our monarch
partakes in the joy. 60

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SECOND PRIEST.

Like the sun, our great monarch all rapture supplies, Both similar
blessings bestow; The sun with his splendour illumines the skies, And
our monarch enlivens below.

A CHALDEAN WOMAN.

AIR.

Haste, ye sprightly sons of pleasure; 65 Love presents the fairest
treasure, Leave all other joys for me.

A CHALDEAN ATTENDANT.

Or rather, Love's delights despising, Haste to raptures ever rising Wine
shall bless the brave and free. 70

FIRST PRIEST.

Wine and beauty thus inviting, Each to different joys exciting, Whither
shall my choice incline?

SECOND PRIEST.

I'll waste no longer thought in choosing; But, neither this nor that
refusing, 75 I'll make them both together mine.

RECITATIVE.

But whence, when joy should brighten o'er the land, This sullen gloom
in Judah's captive band? Ye sons of Judah, why the lute unstrung? Or why
those harps on yonder willows hung? 80 Come, take the lyre, and pour the
strain along, The day demands it; sing us Sion's song.

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Dismiss your griefs, and join our warbling choir, For who like you can
wake the sleeping lyre?

SECOND PROPHET.

Bow'd down with chains, the scorn of all mankind, 85 To want, to toil,
and every ill consign'd, Is this a time to bid us raise the strain, Or
mix in rites that Heaven regards with pain? No, never! May this hand
forget each art That speeds the power of music to the heart, 90 Ere
I forget the land that gave me birth, Or join with sounds profane its
sacred mirth!

FIRST PRIEST.

Insulting slaves! If gentler methods fail, The whips and angry tortures
shall prevail. [Exeunt Chaldeans

FIRST PROPHET.

Why, let them come, one good remains to cheer; 95 We fear the Lord, and
know no other fear.

CHORUS.

Can whips or tortures hurt the mind On God's supporting breast reclin'd?
Stand fast, and let our tyrants see That fortitude is victory. [Exeunt.

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ACT II.

Scene as before. CHORUS OF ISRAELITES.

O PEACE of mind, angelic guest! Thou soft companion of the breast!
Dispense thy balmy store. Wing all our thoughts to reach the skies, Till
earth, receding from our eyes, 5 Shall vanish as we soar.

FIRST PRIEST.

RECITATIVE.

No more! Too long has justice been delay'd, The king's commands must
fully be obey'd; Compliance with his will your peace secures, Praise
but our gods, and every good is yours. 10 But if, rebellious to his
high command, You spurn the favours offer'd from his hand, Think, timely
think, what terrors are behind; Reflect, nor tempt to rage the royal
mind.

SECOND PRIEST.

AIR.

Fierce is the whirlwind howling 15 O'er Afric's sandy plain, And fierce
the tempest rolling Along the furrow'd main: But storms that fly, To
rend the sky, 20

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Goldsmith's Autograph GOLDSMITH'S AUTOGRAPH (Stanzas from 'The
Captivity')



Every ill presaging, Less dreadful show To worlds below Than angry
monarch's raging.

ISRAELITISH WOMAN.

RECITATIVE.

Ah, me! What angry terrors round us grow; 25 How shrinks my soul to meet
the threaten'd blow! Ye prophets, skill'd in Heaven's eternal truth,
Forgive my sex's fears, forgive my youth! If, shrinking thus, when
frowning power appears, I wish for life, and yield me to my fears. 30
Let us one hour, one little hour obey; To-morrow's tears may wash our
stains away.

AIR.

To the last moment of his breath On hope the wretch relies; And e'en the
pang preceding death 35 Bids expectation rise.

Hope, like the gleaming taper's light, Adorns and cheers our way; And
still, as darker grows the night, Emits a brighter ray. 40

SECOND PRIEST. RECITATIVE.

Why this delay? At length for joy prepare; I read your looks, and
see compliance there. Come on, and bid the warbling rapture rise, Our
monarch's fame the noblest theme supplies.

notes

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Begin, ye captive bands, and strike the lyre, 45 The time, the theme,
the place, and all conspire.

CHALDEAN WOMAN.

AIR.

See the ruddy morning smiling, Hear the grove to bliss beguiling;
Zephyrs through the woodland playing, Streams along the valley straying.
50

FIRST PRIEST.

While these a constant revel keep, Shall Reason only teach to weep?
Hence, intruder! We'll pursue Nature, a better guide than you.

SECOND PRIEST.

Every moment, as it flows, 55 Some peculiar pleasure owes; Then let us,
providently wise, Seize the debtor as it flies.

Think not to-morrow can repay The pleasures that we lose to-day; 60
To-morrow's most unbounded store Can but pay its proper score.

FIRST PRIEST.

RECITATIVE.

But hush! See, foremost of the captive choir, The master-prophet grasps
his full-ton'd lyre. Mark where he sits, with executing art, 65 Feels
for each tone, and speeds it to the heart;

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See how prophetic rapture fills his form, Awful as clouds that nurse the
growing storm; And now his voice, accordant to the string, Prepares our
monarch's victories to sing. 70

FIRST PROPHET.

AIR.

From north, from south, from east, from west, Conspiring nations come;
Tremble thou vice-polluted breast; Blasphemers, all be dumb.

The tempest gathers all around, 75 On Babylon it lies; Down with her!
downdown to the ground; She sinks, she groans, she dies.

SECOND PROPHET.

Down with her, Lord, to lick the dust, Ere yonder setting sun; 80 Serve
her as she hath served the just! 'Tis fixedit shall be done.

FIRST PRIEST.

RECITATIVE.

No more! When slaves thus insolent presume, The king himself shall
judge, and fix their doom. Unthinking wretches! have not you, and all,
85 Beheld our power in Zedekiah's fall? To yonder gloomy dungeon turn
your eyes; See where dethron'd your captive monarch lies, Depriv'd of
sight and rankling in his chain; See where he mourns his friends and
children slain. 90

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Yet know, ye slaves, that still remain behind More ponderous chains, and
dungeons more confin'd.

CHORUS OF ALL.

Arise, all potent ruler, rise, And vindicate thy people's cause;
Till every tongue in every land 95 Shall offer up unfeign'd applause.
[Exeunt.



ACT III.

Scene as before.

FIRST PRIEST.

RECITATIVE.

YES, my companions, Heaven's decrees are past, And our fix'd empire
shall for ever last; In vain the madd'ning prophet threatens woe, In
vain rebellion aims her secret blow; Still shall our fame and growing
power be spread, 5 And still our vengeance crush the traitor's head.

AIR.

Coeval with man Our empire began, And never shall fail Till ruin shakes
all; 10 When ruin shakes all, Then shall Babylon fall.

page 123



FIRST PROPHET.

RECITATIVE.

'Tis thus that pride triumphant rears the head, A little while, and all
their power is fled; But ha! what means yon sadly plaintive train, 15
That this way slowly bend along the plain? And now, methinks, to yonder
bank they bear A palled corse, and rest the body there. Alas! too well
mine eyes indignant trace The last remains of Judah's royal race: 20 Our
monarch falls, and now our fears are o'er, Unhappy Zedekiah is no more!

AIR.

Ye wretches who, by fortune's hate, In want and sorrow groan; Come
ponder his severer fate, 25 And learn to bless your own.

You vain, whom youth and pleasure guide, Awhile the bliss suspend; Like
yours, his life began in pride, Like his, your lives shall end. 30

SECOND PROPHET.

RECITATIVE.

Behold his wretched corse with sorrow worn, His squalid limbs with
pond'rous fetters torn; Those eyeless orbs that shock with ghastly
glare, Those ill-becoming ragsthat matted hair! And shall not Heaven
for this its terrors show, 35 Grasp the red bolt, and lay the guilty
low?

page 124



How long, how long, Almighty God of all, Shall wrath vindictive threaten
ere it fall!

ISRAELITISH WOMAN.

AIR.

As panting flies the hunted hind, Where brooks refreshing stray; 40 And
rivers through the valley wind, That stop the hunter's way:

Thus we, O Lord, alike distrest, For streams of mercy long; Those
streams which cheer the sore opprest, 45 And overwhelm the strong.

FIRST PROPHET.

RECITATIVE.

But, whence that shout? Good heavens! amazement all! See yonder tower
just nodding to the fall: See where an army covers all the ground,
Saps the strong wall, and pours destruction round; 50 The ruin smokes,
destruction pours along; How low the great, how feeble are the strong!
The foe prevails, the lofty walls recline O God of hosts, the victory
is thine!

CHORUS OF ISRAELITES.

Down with them, Lord, to lick the dust; 55 Thy vengeance be begun: Serve
them as they have serv'd the just, And let thy will be done.

page 125



FIRST PRIEST.

RECITATIVE.

All, all is lost. The Syrian army fails, Cyrus, the conqueror of the
world, prevails, 60 The ruin smokes, the torrent pours along; How low
the proud, how feeble are the strong! Save us, O Lord! to thee, though
late, we pray, And give repentance but an hour's delay.

FIRST AND SECOND PRIEST.

AIR.

Thrice happy, who in happy hour 65 To Heaven their praise bestow, And
own his all-consuming power Before they feel the blow!

FIRST PROPHET.

RECITATIVE.

Now, now's our time! ye wretches bold and blind, Brave but to God, and
cowards to mankind, 70 Too late you seek that power unsought before,
Your wealth, your pride, your kingdom, are no more.

AIR.

O Lucifer, thou son of morn, Alike of Heaven and man the foe; Heaven,
men, and all, 75 Now press thy fall, And sink thee lowest of the low.

page 126



FIRST PROPHET.

O Babylon, how art thou fallen! Thy fall more dreadful from delay! Thy
streets forlorn 80 To wilds shall turn, Where toads shall pant, and
vultures prey.

SECOND PROPHET.

RECITATIVE.

Such be her fate. But listen! from afar The clarion's note proclaims
the finish'd war! Cyrus, our great restorer, is at hand, 85 And this way
leads his formidable band. Give, give your songs of Sion to the wind,
And hail the benefactor of mankind: He comes pursuant to divine decree,
To chain the strong, and set the captive free. 90

CHORUS OF YOUTHS.

Rise to transports past expressing, Sweeter from remember'd woes; Cyrus
comes, our wrongs redressing, Comes to give the world repose.

CHORUS OF VIRGINS.

Cyrus comes, the world redressing, 95 Love and pleasure in his train;
Comes to heighten every blessing, Comes to soften every pain.

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SEMI-CHORUS.

Hail to him with mercy reigning, Skilled in every peaceful art; 100 Who
from bonds our limbs unchaining, Only binds the willing heart.

THE LAST CHORUS.

But chief to Thee, our God, defender, friend, Let praise be given to all
eternity; O Thou, without beginning, without end, 105 Let us, and all,
begin and end, in Thee!

page 128



VERSES IN REPLY TO AN INVITATION TO DINNER AT DR. BAKER'S.

'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 saved, 5 I put off being
shaved; For I could not make bold, While the matter was cold, To meddle
in suds, Or to put on my duds; 10 So tell Horneck and Nesbitt, And Baker
and his bit, And Kauffmann beside, And the Jessamy Bride, With the
rest of the crew, 15 The Reynoldses two, Little Comedy's face, And the
Captain in lace, (By-the-bye you may tell him, I have something to sell
him; 20 Of use I insist, When he comes to enlist. Your worships must
know That a few days ago, An order went out, 25 For the foot guards so
stout

notes

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To wear tails in high taste, Twelve inches at least: Now I've got him a
scale To measure each tail, 30 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 35 Your Devonshire crew, For sending so late To one
of my state. But 'tis Reynolds's way From wisdom to stray, 40 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?

OLIVER GOLDSMITH.

notes

page 130



LETTER IN PROSE AND VERSE TO MRS. BUNBURY

MADAM, I read your letter with all that allowance which critical candour
could require, but after all find so much to object to, and so much to
raise my indignation, that I cannot help giving it a serious answer.

I am not so ignorant, Madam, as not to see there are many sarcasms
contained in it, and solecisms also. (Solecism is a word that comes
from the town of Soleis in Attica, among the Greeks, built by Solon, and
applied as we use the word Kidderminster for curtains, from a town also
of that name;but this is learning you have no taste for!)I say,
Madam, there are sarcasms in it, and solecisms also. But not to seem an
ill-natured critic, I'll take leave to quote your own words, and give
you my remarks upon them as they occur. You begin as follows:

'I hope, my good Doctor, you soon will be here, And your spring-velvet
coat very smart will appear, To open our ball the first day of the
year.'

Pray, Madam, where did you ever find the epithet 'good,' applied to the
title of Doctor? Had you called me 'learned Doctor,' or 'grave Doctor,'
or 'noble Doctor,' it might be allowable, because they belong to the
profession. But, not to cavil at trifles, you talk of my 'spring- velvet
coat,' and advise me to wear it the first day in the year,that is, in
the middle of winter!a spring-velvet in the middle of winter!!! That
would be

notes

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a solecism indeed! and yet, to increase the inconsistence, in another
part of your letter you call me a beau. Now, on one side or other,
you must be wrong. If I am a beau, I can never think of wearing a
spring-velvet in winter: and if I am not a beau, why then, that explains
itself. But let me go on to your two next strange lines:

'And bring with you a wig, that is modish and gay, dance with the girls
that are makers of hay.'

The absurdity of making hay at Christmas, you yourself seem sensible of:
you say your sister will laugh; and so indeed she well may! The Latins
have an expression for a contemptuous sort of laughter, 'Naso contemnere
adunco'; that is, to laugh with a crooked nose. She may laugh at you in
the manner of the ancients if she thinks fit. But now I come to the most
extraordinary of all extraordinary propositions, which is, to take your
and your sister's advice in playing at loo. The presumption of the offer
raises my indignation beyond the bounds of prose; it inspires me at once
with verse and resentment. I take advice! and from whom? You shall hear.

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 5 At never once finding a visit from Pam.
I lay down my stake, apparently cool, While the harpies about me all
pocket the pool.

notes

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I fret in my gizzard, yet, cautious and sly, I wish all my friends may
be bolder than I: 10 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, 15 '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.' Mr. Bunbury
frets, and I fret like the devil, To see them so cowardly, lucky, and
civil. 20 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'Come, give me five cards.' 'Well done!' cry the
ladies; 'Ah, Doctor, that's good! 25 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, Ma'am, be so good as to give
your advice; Don't you think the best way is to venture for 't twice?'
30 '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, 35 Whether crimes such
as yours should not come before Fielding?

notes

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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. 40 What justice, when
both to the Old Bailey brought! By the gods, I'll enjoy it; though 'tis
but in thought! Both are plac'd at the bar, with all proper decorum,
With bunches of fennel, and nosegays before 'em; Both cover their faces
with mobs and all that; 45 But the judge bids them, angrily, take off
their hat. When uncover'd, a buzz of enquiry runs round, 'Pray what
are their crimes?''They've been pilfering found.' 'But, pray, whom have
they pilfer'd?''A Doctor, I hear.' 'What, yon solemn-faced, odd-looking
man that stands near!' 50 'The same.''What a pity! how does it 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, 55
'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?' 60 '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;

notes

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there's the parish of St. Leonard, Shoreditch, offers forty pounds;
there's the parish of Tyburn, from the Hog-in-the-Pound to St. Giles's
watchhouse, 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, 65 For ten pounds in hand, and ten pounds to be spent.

I challenge you all to answer 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.

page 135



VIDA'S GAME OF CHESS

TRANSLATED

ARMIES of box that sportively engage And mimic real battles in their
rage, Pleased I recount; how, smit with glory's charms, Two mighty
Monarchs met in adverse arms, Sable and white; assist me to explore,
5 Ye Serian Nymphs, what ne'er was sung before. No path appears: yet
resolute I stray Where youth undaunted bids me force my way. O'er rocks
and cliffs while I the task pursue, Guide me, ye Nymphs, with your
unerring clue. 10 For you the rise of this diversion know, You first
were pleased in Italy to show This studious sport; from Scacchis was
its name, The pleasing record of your Sister's fame. When Jove through
Ethiopia's parch'd extent 15 To grace the nuptials of old Ocean went,
Each god was there; and mirth and joy around To shores remote diffused
their happy sound. Then when their hunger and their thirst no more
Claim'd their attention, and the feast was o'er; 20 Ocean with
pastime to divert the thought, Commands a painted table to be brought.
Sixty-four spaces fill the chequer'd square; Eight in each rank eight
equal limits share.

notes

page 136



Alike their form, but different are their dyes, 25 They fade alternate,
and alternate rise, White after black; such various stains as those The
shelving backs of tortoises disclose. Then to the gods that mute and
wondering sate, You see (says he) the field prepared for fate. 30 Here
will the little armies please your sight, With adverse colours hurrying
to the fight: On which so oft, with silent sweet surprise, The Nymphs
and Nereids used to feast their eyes, And all the neighbours of the
hoary deep, 35 When calm the sea, and winds were lull'd asleep But see,
the mimic heroes tread the board; He said, and straightway from an urn
he pour'd The sculptured box, that neatly seem'd to ape The graceful
figure of a human shape: 40 Equal the strength and number of each foe,
Sixteen appear'd like jet, sixteen like snow. As their shape varies
various is the name, Different their posts, nor is their strength the
same. There might you see two Kings with equal pride 45 Gird on their
arms, their Consorts by their side; Here the Foot-warriors glowing after
fame, There prancing Knights and dexterous Archers came And Elephants,
that on their backs sustain Vast towers of war, and fill and shake the
plain. 50 And now both hosts, preparing for the storm Of adverse battle,
their encampments form. In the fourth space, and on the farthest line,
Directly opposite the Monarchs shine; The swarthy on white ground, on
sable stands 55 The silver King; and then they send commands.

page 137



Nearest to these the Queens exert their might; One the left side, and
t'other guards the right: Where each, by her respective armour known.
Chooses the colour that is like her own. 60 Then the young Archers, two
that snowy-white Bend the tough yew, and two as black as night; (Greece
call'd them Mars's favourites heretofore, From their delight in war,
and thirst of gore). These on each side the Monarch and his Queen 65
Surround obedient; next to these are seen The crested Knights in golden
armour gay; Their steeds by turns curvet, or snort or neigh. In either
army on each distant wing Two mighty Elephants their castles bring, 70
Bulwarks immense! and then at last combine Eight of the Foot to form the
second line, The vanguard to the King and Queen; from far Prepared to
open all the fate of war. So moved the boxen hosts, each double-lined,
75 Their different colours floating in the wind: As if an army of the
Gauls should go, With their white standards, o'er the Alpine snow To
meet in rigid fight on scorching sands The sun-burnt Moors and Memnon's
swarthy bands. 80 Then Father Ocean thus; you see them here, Celestial
powers, what troops, what camps appear. Learn now the sev'ral orders of
the fray, For e'en these arms their stated laws obey. To lead the fight,
the Kings from all their bands 85 Choose whom they please to bear their
great commands.

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Should a black hero first to battle go, | Instant a white one guards
against the blow; | But only one at once can charge or shun the foe. |
Their gen'ral purpose on one scheme is bent, 90 So to besiege the King
within the tent, That there remains no place by subtle flight From
danger free; and that decides the fight. Meanwhile, howe'er, the sooner
to destroy Th' imperial Prince, remorseless they employ 95 Their swords
in blood; and whosoever dare Oppose their vengeance, in the ruin share.
Fate thins their camp; the parti- field Widens apace, as they
o'ercome or yield, But the proud victor takes the captive's post; 100
There fronts the fury of th' avenging host One single shock: and (should
he ward the blow), May then retire at pleasure from the foe. The Foot
alone (so their harsh laws ordain) When they proceed can ne'er return
again. 105 But neither all rush on alike to prove The terror of their
arms: The Foot must move Directly on, and but a single square; Yet may
these heroes, when they first prepare To mix in combat on the bloody
mead, 110 Double their sally, and two steps proceed; But when they
wound, their swords they subtly guide With aim oblique, and slanting
pierce his side. But the great Indian beasts, whose backs sustain Vast
turrets arm'd, when on the redd'ning plain 115 They join in all the
terror of the fight, Forward or backward, to the left or right,

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Run furious, and impatient of confine Scour through the field, and
threat the farthest line. Yet must they ne'er obliquely aim their blows;
| 120 That only manner is allow'd to those | Whom Mars has favour'd
most, who bend the stubborn bows. | These glancing sidewards in a
straight career, Yet each confin'd to their respective sphere, Or white
or black, can send th' unerring dart 125 Wing'd with swift death to
pierce through ev'ry part. The fiery steed, regardless of the reins,
Comes prancing on; but sullenly disdains The path direct, and boldly
wheeling round, | Leaps o'er a double space at ev'ry bound: 130 | And
shifts from white or black to diff'rent colour'd ground. | But the
fierce Queen, whom dangers ne'er dismay, The strength and terror of the
bloody day, In a straight line spreads her destruction wide, To left
or right, before, behind, aside. 135 Yet may she never with a circling
course Sweep to the battle like the fretful Horse; But unconfin'd may at
her pleasure stray, If neither friend nor foe block up the way; For
to o'erleap a warrior, 'tis decreed 140 Those only dare who curb the
snorting steed. With greater caution and majestic state The warlike
Monarchs in the scene of fate Direct their motions, since for these
appear Zealous each hope, and anxious ev'ry fear. 145 While the King's
safe, with resolution stern They clasp their arms; but should a sudden
turn

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Make him a captive, instantly they yield, Resolved to share his fortune
in the field. He moves on slow; with reverence profound 150 His faithful
troops encompass him around, And oft, to break some instant fatal
scheme, Rush to their fates, their sov'reign to redeem; While he,
unanxious where to wound the foe, Need only shift and guard against a
blow. 155 But none, however, can presume t' appear Within his reach,
but must his vengeance fear; For he on ev'ry side his terror throws; But
when he changes from his first repose, Moves but one step, most awfully
sedate, 160 Or idly roving, or intent on fate. These are the sev'ral
and establish'd laws: Now see how each maintains his bloody cause. Here
paused the god, but (since whene'er they wage War here on earth the gods
themselves engage 165 In mutual battle as they hate or love, And the
most stubborn war is oft above), Almighty Jove commands the circling
train Of gods from fav'ring either to abstain, And let the fight be
silently survey'd; 170 And added solemn threats if disobey'd. Then
call'd he Phoebus from among the Powers And subtle Hermes, whom in
softer hours Fair Maia bore: youth wanton'd in their face; Both in
life's bloom, both shone with equal grace. 175 Hermes as yet had never
wing'd his feet; As yet Apollo in his radiant seat Had never driv'n his
chariot through the air, Known by his bow alone and golden hair.

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These Jove commission'd to attempt the fray, 180 And rule the sportive
military day; Bid them agree which party each maintains, And promised a
reward that's worth their pains. The greater took their seats; on either
hand Respectful the less gods in order stand, 185 But careful not to
interrupt their play, By hinting when t' advance or run away. Then they
examine, who shall first proceed To try their courage, and their army
lead. Chance gave it for the White, that he should go 190 First with
a brave defiance to the foe. Awhile he ponder'd which of all his train
Should bear his first commission o'er the plain; And then determined to
begin the scene With him that stood before to guard the Queen. 195 He
took a double step: with instant care Does the black Monarch in his turn
prepare The adverse champion, and with stern command Bid him repel
the charge with equal hand. There front to front, the midst of all the
field, 200 With furious threats their shining arms they wield; Yet vain
the conflict, neither can prevail While in one path each other they
assail. On ev'ry side to their assistance fly Their fellow soldiers,
and with strong supply 205 Crowd to the battle, but no bloody stain
Tinctures their armour; sportive in the plain Mars plays awhile, and in
excursion slight Harmless they sally forth, or wait the fight. But
now the swarthy Foot, that first appear'd 210 To front the foe, his
pond'rous jav'lin rear'd

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Leftward aslant, and a pale warrior slays, Spurns him aside, and boldly
takes his place. Unhappy youth, his danger not to spy! Instant he fell,
and triumph'd but to die. 215 At this the sable King with prudent care
Removed his station from the middle square, And slow retiring to the
farthest ground, There safely lurk'd, with troops entrench'd around.
Then from each quarter to the war advance 220 The furious Knights, and
poise the trembling lance: By turns they rush, by turns the victors
yield, Heaps of dead Foot choke up the crimson'd field: They fall unable
to retreat; around The clang of arms and iron hoofs resound. 225 But
while young Phoebus pleased himself to view His furious Knight destroy
the vulgar crew, Sly Hermes long'd t' attempt with secret aim Some noble
act of more exalted fame. For this, he inoffensive pass'd along 230
Through ranks of Foot, and midst the trembling throng Sent his left
Horse, that free without confine Rov'd o'er the plain, upon some great
design Against the King himself. At length he stood, And having fix'd
his station as he would, 235 Threaten'd at once with instant fate the
King And th' Indian beast that guarded the right wing. Apollo sigh'd,
and hast'ning to relieve The straiten'd Monarch, griev'd that he must
leave His martial Elephant expos'd to fate, 240 And view'd with pitying
eyes his dang'rous state. First in his thoughts however was his care To
save his King, whom to the neighbouring square

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On the right hand, he snatch'd with trembling flight; At this with fury
springs the sable Knight, 245 Drew his keen sword, and rising to the
blow, Sent the great Indian brute to shades below. O fatal loss! for
none except the Queen Spreads such a terror through the bloody scene.
Yet shall you ne'er unpunish'd boast your prize, 250 | The Delian god
with stern resentment cries; | And wedg'd him round with Foot, and
pour'd in fresh supplies. | Thus close besieg'd trembling he cast his
eye Around the plain, but saw no shelter nigh, No way for flight;
for here the Queen oppos'd, 255 The Foot in phalanx there the passage
clos'd: At length he fell; yet not unpleas'd with fate, Since victim to
a Queen's vindictive hate. With grief and fury burns the whiten'd host,
One of their Tow'rs thus immaturely lost. 260 As when a bull has in
contention stern Lost his right horn, with double vengeance burn His
thoughts for war, with blood he's cover'd o'er, And the woods echo
to his dismal roar, So look'd the flaxen host, when angry fate 265
O'erturn'd the Indian bulwark of their state. Fired at this great
success, with double rage Apollo hurries on his troops t' engage, For
blood and havoc wild; and, while he leads His troops thus careless,
loses both his steeds: 270 For if some adverse warriors were o'erthrown,
He little thought what dangers threat his own. But slyer Hermes with
observant eyes March'd slowly cautious, and at distance spies

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What moves must next succeed, what dangers next arise. 275 Often would
he, the stately Queen to snare, The slender Foot to front her arms
prepare, And to conceal his scheme he sighs and feigns Such a wrong step
would frustrate all his pains. Just then an Archer, from the right-hand
view, 280 At the pale Queen his arrow boldly drew, Unseen by Phoebus,
who, with studious thought, From the left side a vulgar hero brought.
But tender Venus, with a pitying eye, Viewing the sad destruction
that was nigh, 285 Wink'd upon Phoebus (for the Goddess sat By chance
directly opposite); at that Roused in an instant, young Apollo threw His
eyes around the field his troops to view: Perceiv'd the danger, and with
sudden fright | 290 Withdrew the Foot that he had sent to fight, | And
sav'd his trembling Queen by seasonable flight. | But Maia's son with
shouts fill'd all the coast: The Queen, he cried, the important Queen
is lost. Phoebus, howe'er, resolving to maintain 295 What he had done,
bespoke the heavenly train. What mighty harm, in sportive mimic flight,
Is it to set a little blunder right, When no preliminary rule debarr'd?
If you henceforward, Mercury, would guard 300 Against such practice, let
us make the law: And whosoe'er shall first to battle draw, Or white, or
black, remorseless let him go At all events, and dare the angry foe.

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He said, and this opinion pleased around: 305 Jove turn'd aside, and on
his daughter frown'd, Unmark'd by Hermes, who, with strange surprise,
Fretted and foam'd, and roll'd his ferret eyes, And but with great
reluctance could refrain From dashing at a blow all off the plain. 310
Then he resolved to interweave deceits, To carry on the war by tricks
and cheats. Instant he call'd an Archer from the throng, And bid him
like the courser wheel along: Bounding he springs, and threats the
pallid Queen. 315 The fraud, however, was by Phoebus seen; He smiled,
and, turning to the Gods, he said: Though, Hermes, you are perfect
in your trade, And you can trick and cheat to great surprise, | These
little sleights no more shall blind my eyes; | 320 Correct them if you
please, the more you thus disguise. | The circle laugh'd aloud; and
Maia's son (As if it had but by mistake been done) Recall'd his Archer,
and with motion due, Bid him advance, the combat to renew. 325 But
Phoebus watch'd him with a jealous eye, Fearing some trick was ever
lurking nigh, For he would oft, with sudden sly design, Send forth at
once two combatants to join His warring troops, against the law of arms,
330 Unless the wary foe was ever in alarms. Now the white Archer with
his utmost force Bent the tough bow against the sable Horse, And drove
him from the Queen, where he had stood Hoping to glut his vengeance with
her blood. 335

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Then the right Elephant with martial pride Roved here and there, and
spread his terrors wide: Glittering in arms from far a courser came,
Threaten'd at once the King and Royal Dame; Thought himself safe when he
the post had seized, 340 And with the future spoils his fancy pleased.
Fired at the danger a young Archer came, Rush'd on the foe, and levell'd
sure his aim; (And though a Pawn his sword in vengeance draws, Gladly
he'd lose his life in glory's cause). 345 The whistling arrow to his
bowels flew, And the sharp steel his blood profusely drew; He drops the
reins, he totters to the ground, And his life issued murm'ring through
the wound. Pierced by the Foot, this Archer bit the plain; | 350 The
Foot himself was by another slain; | And with inflamed revenge, the
battle burns again. | Towers, Archers, Knights, meet on the crimson
ground, And the field echoes to the martial sound. Their thoughts are
heated, and their courage fired, 355 Thick they rush on with double zeal
inspired; Generals and Foot, with different colour'd mien, | Confusedly
warring in the camps are seen, | Valour and fortune meet in one
promiscuous scene. | Now these victorious, lord it o'er the field; 360
Now the foe rallies, the triumphant yield: Just as the tide of battle
ebbs or flows. As when the conflict more tempestuous grows Between
the winds, with strong and boisterous sweep They plough th' Ionian or
Atlantic deep! 365 By turns prevail the mutual blustering roar, And the
big waves alternate lash the shore.

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But in the midst of all the battle raged The snowy Queen, with troops at
once engaged; She fell'd an Archer as she sought the plain, 370 As she
retired an Elephant was slain: To right and left her fatal spears she
sent, Burst through the ranks, and triumph'd as she went; Through arms
and blood she seeks a glorious fate, Pierces the farthest lines, and
nobly great 375 Leads on her army with a gallant show, Breaks the
battalions, and cuts through the foe. At length the sable King his fears
betray'd, And begg'd his military consort's aid: With cheerful speed
she flew to his relief, 380 And met in equal arms the female chief.
Who first, great Queen, and who at last did bleed? How many Whites lay
gasping on the mead? Half dead, and floating in a bloody tide, Foot,
Knights, and Archer lie on every side. 385 Who can recount the slaughter
of the day? How many leaders threw their lives away? The chequer'd plain
is fill'd with dying box, Havoc ensues, and with tumultuous shocks
The different colour'd ranks in blood engage, 390 And Foot and Horse
promiscuously rage. With nobler courage and superior might The dreadful
Amazons sustain the fight, Resolved alike to mix in glorious strife,
Till to imperious fate they yield their life. 395 Meanwhile each
Monarch, in a neighbouring cell, Confined the warriors that in battle
fell, There watch'd the captives with a jealous eye, Lest, slipping out
again, to arms they fly.

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But Thracian Mars, in stedfast friendship join'd 400 To Hermes, as near
Phoebus he reclined, Observed each chance, how all their motions bend,
Resolved if possible to serve his friend. He a Foot-soldier and a Knight
purloin'd Out from the prison that the dead confined; 405 And slyly
push'd 'em forward on the plain; | Th' enliven'd combatants their arms
regain, | Mix in the bloody scene, and boldly war again. | So the foul
hag, in screaming wild alarms O'er a dead carcase muttering her charms,
410 (And with her frequent and tremendous yell Forcing great Hecate from
out of hell) Shoots in the corpse a new fictitious soul; | With instant
glare the supple eyeballs roll, | Again it moves and speaks, and life
informs the whole. | 415 Vulcan alone discern'd the subtle cheat; And
wisely scorning such a base deceit, Call'd out to Phoebus. Grief and
rage assail Phoebus by turns; detected Mars turns pale. Then awful Jove
with sullen eye reproved 420 Mars, and the captives order'd to be moved
To their dark caves; bid each fictitious spear Be straight recall'd, and
all be as they were. And now both Monarchs with redoubled rage Led
on their Queens, the mutual war to wage. 425 O'er all the field their
thirsty spears they send, Then front to front their Monarchs they
defend. But lo! the female White rush'd in unseen, And slew with fatal
haste the swarthy Queen;

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Yet soon, alas! resign'd her royal spoils, 430 Snatch'd by a shaft from
her successful toils. Struck at the sight, both hosts in wild surprise
Pour'd forth their tears, and fill'd the air with cries; They wept and
sigh'd, as pass'd the fun'ral train, As if both armies had at once been
slain. 435 And now each troop surrounds its mourning chief, To guard his
person, or assuage his grief. One is their common fear; one stormy blast
Has equally made havoc as it pass'd. Not all, however, of their youth
are slain; 440 Some champions yet the vig'rous war maintain. Three Foot,
an Archer, and a stately Tower, For Phoebus still exert their utmost
power. Just the same number Mercury can boast, Except the Tower, who
lately in his post 445 Unarm'd inglorious fell, in peace profound,
Pierced by an Archer with a distant wound; But his right Horse retain'd
its mettled pride, The rest were swept away by war's strong tide. But
fretful Hermes, with despairing moan, 450 Griev'd that so many champions
were o'erthrown, Yet reassumes the fight; and summons round The little
straggling army that he found, All that had 'scaped from fierce
Apollo's rage, Resolved with greater caution to engage 455 In future
strife, by subtle wiles (if fate Should give him leave) to save his
sinking state. The sable troops advance with prudence slow, Bent on all
hazards to distress the foe. More cheerful Phoebus, with unequal pace,
460 Rallies his arms to lessen his disgrace.

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But what strange havoc everywhere has been! | A straggling champion here
and there is seen; | And many are the tents, yet few are left within.
| Th' afflicted Kings bewail their consorts dead, 465 And loathe the
thoughts of a deserted bed; And though each monarch studies to improve
The tender mem'ry of his former love, Their state requires a second
nuptial tie. Hence the pale ruler with a love-sick eye 470 Surveys th'
attendants of his former wife, And offers one of them a royal life.
These, when their martial mistress had been slain, Weak and despairing
tried their arms in vain; Willing, howe'er, amidst the Black to go, 475
They thirst for speedy vengeance on the foe. Then he resolves to see who
merits best, By strength and courage, the imperial vest; Points out the
foe, bids each with bold design Pierce through the ranks, and reach the
deepest line: 480 For none must hope with monarchs to repose But who
can first, through thick surrounding foes, Through arms and wiles, with
hazardous essay, Safe to the farthest quarters force their way. Fired
at the thought, with sudden, joyful pace 485 They hurry on; but first
of all the race Runs the third right-hand warrior for the prize, The
glitt'ring crown already charms her eyes. Her dear associates cheerfully
give o'er | The nuptial chase; and swift she flies before, | 490 And
Glory lent her wings, and the reward in store. | Nor would the sable
King her hopes prevent, For he himself was on a Queen intent,

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Alternate, therefore, through the field they go. Hermes led on, but by
a step too slow, 495 His fourth left Pawn: and now th' advent'rous
White Had march'd through all, and gain'd the wish'd for site. Then the
pleased King gives orders to prepare The crown, the sceptre, and the
royal chair, And owns her for his Queen: around exult 500 The snowy
troops, and o'er the Black insult. Hermes burst into tears,with fretful
roar Fill'd the wide air, and his gay vesture tore. The swarthy Foot had
only to advance One single step; but oh! malignant chance! 505 A towered
Elephant, with fatal aim, Stood ready to destroy her when she came:
He keeps a watchful eye upon the whole, Threatens her entrance, and
protects the goal. Meanwhile the royal new-created bride, 510 Pleased
with her pomp, spread death and terror wide; Like lightning through the
sable troops she flies, Clashes her arms, and seems to threat the skies.
The sable troops are sunk in wild affright, And wish th' earth op'ning
snatch'd 'em from her sight. 515 In burst the Queen, with vast impetuous
swing: | The trembling foes come swarming round the King, | Where in the
midst he stood, and form a valiant ring. | So the poor cows, straggling
o'er pasture land, When they perceive the prowling wolf at hand, 520
Crowd close together in a circle full, And beg the succour of the lordly
bull; They clash their horns, they low with dreadful sound, And the
remotest groves re-echo round.

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But the bold Queen, victorious, from behind 525 Pierces the foe; yet
chiefly she design'd Against the King himself some fatal aim, And full
of war to his pavilion came. Now here she rush'd, now there; and had she
been But duly prudent, she had slipp'd between, 530 With course oblique,
into the fourth white square, And the long toil of war had ended there,
The King had fallen, and all his sable state; And vanquish'd Hermes
cursed his partial fate. For thence with ease the championess might go,
535 Murder the King, and none could ward the blow. With silence, Hermes,
and with panting heart, Perceived the danger, but with subtle art, (Lest
he should see the place) spurs on the foe, Confounds his thoughts, and
blames his being slow. 540 For shame! move on; would you for ever stay?
What sloth is this, what strange perverse delay? How could you e'er
my little pausing blame? What! you would wait till night shall end the
game? Phoebus, thus nettled, with imprudence slew 545 A vulgar Pawn, but
lost his nobler view. Young Hermes leap'd, with sudden joy elate; And
then, to save the monarch from his fate, Led on his martial Knight, who
stepp'd between, Pleased that his charge was to oppose the Queen 550
Then, pondering how the Indian beast to slay, That stopp'd the Foot
from making farther way, From being made a Queen; with slanting aim
An archer struck him; down the monster came, And dying shook the earth:
while Phoebus tries 555 Without success the monarch to surprise.

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The Foot, then uncontroll'd with instant pride, Seized the last spot,
and moved a royal bride. And now with equal strength both war again,
And bring their second wives upon the plain; 560 Then, though with equal
views each hop'd and fear'd, Yet, as if every doubt had disappear'd,
As if he had the palm, young Hermes flies Into excess of joy; with deep
disguise, Extols his own Black troops, with frequent spite 565 And with
invective taunts disdains the White. Whom Phoebus thus reproved with
quick return As yet we cannot the decision learn Of this dispute, and
do you triumph now? Then your big words and vauntings I'll allow, 570
When you the battle shall completely gain; At present I shall make your
boasting vain. He said, and forward led the daring Queen; Instant the
fury of the bloody scene Rises tumultuous, swift the warriors fly 575
From either side to conquer or to die. They front the storm of war:
around 'em Fear, Terror, and Death, perpetually appear. All meet in
arms, and man to man oppose, Each from their camp attempts to drive
their foes; 580 Each tries by turns to force the hostile lines; Chance
and impatience blast their best designs. The sable Queen spread terror
as she went Through the mid ranks: with more reserved intent The adverse
dame declined the open fray, 585 And to the King in private stole away:
Then took the royal guard, and bursting in, With fatal menace close
besieged the King.

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Alarm'd at this, the swarthy Queen, in haste, From all her havoc and
destructive waste 590 Broke off, and her contempt of death to show, |
Leap'd in between the Monarch and the foe, | To save the King and state
from this impending blow. | But Phoebus met a worse misfortune here:
For Hermes now led forward, void of fear, 595 His furious Horse into the
open plain, That onward chafed, and pranced, and pawed amain. Nor ceased
from his attempts until he stood On the long-wished-for spot, from
whence he could Slay King or Queen. O'erwhelm'd with sudden fears, 600
Apollo saw, and could not keep from tears. Now all seem'd ready to be
overthrown; His strength was wither'd, ev'ry hope was flown. Hermes,
exulting at this great surprise, Shouted for joy, and fill'd the air
with cries; 605 Instant he sent the Queen to shades below, And of her
spoils made a triumphant show. But in return, and in his mid career,
Fell his brave Knight, beneath the Monarch's spear. Phoebus, however,
did not yet despair, 610 But still fought on with courage and with care.
He had but two poor common men to show, And Mars's favourite with his
iv'ry bow. The thoughts of ruin made 'em dare their best To save their
King, so fatally distress'd. 615 But the sad hour required not such an
aid; And Hermes breathed revenge where'er he stray'd. Fierce comes the
sable Queen with fatal threat, Surrounds the Monarch in his royal seat;

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Rushed here and there, nor rested till she slew 620 The last remainder
of the whiten'd crew. Sole stood the King, the midst of all the plain,
Weak and defenceless, his companions slain. As when the ruddy morn
ascending high Has chased the twinkling stars from all the sky, 625
Your star, fair Venus, still retains its light, And, loveliest, goes the
latest out of sight. No safety's left, no gleams of hope remain; Yet did
he not as vanquish'd quit the plain, But tried to shut himself between
the foe, | 630 Unhurt through swords and spears he hoped to go, | Until
no room was left to shun the fatal blow. | For if none threaten'd his
immediate fate, And his next move must ruin all his state, All their
past toil and labour is in vain, | 635 Vain all the bloody carnage of
the plain, | Neither would triumph then, the laurel neither gain. |
Therefore through each void space and desert tent, By different moves
his various course he bent: The Black King watch'd him with observant
eye, 640 Follow'd him close, but left him room to fly. Then when he saw
him take the farthest line, He sent the Queen his motions to confine,
And guard the second rank, that he could go No farther now than to that
distant row. 645 The sable monarch then with cheerful mien Approach'd,
but always with one space between. But as the King stood o'er against
him there, Helpless, forlorn, and sunk in his despair,

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The martial Queen her lucky moment knew, | 650 Seized on the farthest
seat with fatal view, | Nor left th' unhappy King a place to flee unto.
| At length in vengeance her keen sword she draws, | Slew him, and
ended thus the bloody cause: | And all the gods around approved it with
applause. | 655 The victor could not from his insults keep, But laugh'd
and sneer'd to see Apollo weep. Jove call'd him near, and gave him in
his hand The powerful, happy, and mysterious wand By which the Shades
are call'd to purer day, 660 When penal fire has purged their sins away;
By which the guilty are condemn'd to dwell In the dark mansions of the
deepest hell; By which he gives us sleep, or sleep denies, And closes
at the last the dying eyes. 665 Soon after this, the heavenly victor
brought The game on earth, and first th' Italians taught. For (as they
say) fair Scacchis he espied Feeding her cygnets in the silver tide,
(Sacchis, the loveliest Seriad of the place) 670 And as she stray'd,
took her to his embrace. Then, to reward her for her virtue lost, Gave
her the men and chequer'd board, emboss'd With gold and silver curiously
inlay'd; And taught her how the game was to be play'd. 675 Ev'n now
'tis honour'd with her happy name; And Rome and all the world admire the
game. All which the Seriads told me heretofore, When my boy-notes amused
the Serian shore.

Lyrical and Miscellaneous Notes

Poetical Works of Goldsmith / / The Captivity /


page 159



NOTES


INTRODUCTION

He was born . . . at Pallas. This is the usual account. But it was
maintained by the family of the poet's mother, and has been contended
(by Dr. Michael F. Cox in a Lecture on 'The Country and Kindred of
Oliver Goldsmith,' published in vol. 1, pt. 2, of the Journal of the
'National Literary Society of Ireland.' 1900) that his real birth-place
was the residence of Mrs. Goldsmith's parents, Smith-Hill House, Elphin,
Roscommon, to which she was in the habit of paying frequent visits.
Meanwhile, in 1897, a window was placed to Goldsmith's memory in Forgney
Church, Longford,the church of which, at the time of his birth, his
father was curate.

his academic career was not a success. 'Oliver Goldsmith is recorded on
two occasions as being remarkably diligent at Morning Lecture; again, as
cautioned for bad answering at Morning and Greek Lectures; and finally,
as put down into the next class for neglect of his studies' (Dr.
Stubbs's History of the University of Dublin, 1889, p. 201 n.)

a scratched signature upon a window-pane. This, which is now at Trinity
College, Dublin, is here reproduced in facsimile. When the garrets of
No. 35, Parliament Square, were pulled down in 1837, it was cut out
of the window by the last occupant of the rooms, who broke it in the
process. (Dr. J. F. Waller in Cassell's Works of Goldsmith, [1864-5],
pp. xiii-xiv n.)

a poor physician. Where he obtained his diploma is not known. It was
certainly not at Padua (Athenaeum, July 21, 1894). At Leyden and Louvain
Prior made inquiries but, in each case, without success. The annals of
the University of Louvain were, however, destroyed in the revolutionary
wars. (Prior, Life, 1837, i, pp. 171, 178).

declared it to be by Goldsmith. Goldsmith's authorship of this version
has now been placed beyond a doubt by the publication in facsimile of
his signed receipt to Edward Dilly for

page 160



third share of 'my translation,' such third share amounting to 6 pounds
13s. 4d. The receipt, which belongs to Mr. J. W. Ford of Enfield Old
Park, is dated 'January 11th, 1758.' (Memoirs of a Protestant, etc.,
Dent's edition, 1895, i, pp. xii-xviii.)

12, Green Arbour Court, Old Bailey. This was a tiny square occupying a
site now absorbed by the Holborn Viaduct and Railway Station. No. 12,
where Goldsmith lived, was later occupied by Messrs. Smith, Elder & Co.
as a printing office. An engraving of the Court forms the frontispiece
to the European Magazine for January, 1803.

Green Arbour Court, Little Old Bailey. GREEN ARBOUR COURT, LITTLE OLD
BAILEY (as it appeared in 1803)

or some of his imitators. The proximate cause of the Citizen of the
World, as the present writer has suggested elsewhere, may have been
Horace Walpole's Letter from XoHo [Soho?], a Chinese Philosopher at
London, to his friend Lien Chi, at Peking. This was noticed as 'in
Montesquieu's manner' in the May issue of the Monthly Review for 1757,
to which Goldsmith was a contributor (Eighteenth Century Vignettes,
first series, second edition, 1897, pp. 108-9).

demonstrable from internal evidence. e.g.The references to the musical
glasses (ch. ix), which were the rage in 1761-2; and to the Auditor (ch.
xix) established by Arthur Murphy in June of the latter year. The sale
of the 'Vicar' is discussed at length in chapter vii of the editor's
Life of Oliver Goldsmith ('Great Writers' series), 1888, pp. 110-21.

started with a loss. This, which to some critics has seemed
unintelliglble, rests upon the following: 'The first three editions, .
. . resulted in a loss, and the fourth, which was not issued until eight
[four?] years after the first, started with a balance against it of £2
16s. 6d., and it was not until that fourth edition had been sold that
the balance came out on the right side' (A Bookseller of the Last
Century [John Newbery] by Charles Welsh, 1885, p. 61). The writer based
his statement upon Collins's 'Publishing book, account of books printed
and shares therein, No. 3, 1770 to 1785.'

James's Powder. This was a famous patent panacea, invented by Johnson's
Lichfield townsman, Dr. Robert James of the Medicinal Dictionary. It
was sold by John Newbery, and had an extraordinary vogue. The King dosed
Princess Elizabeth with it; Fielding, Gray, and Cowper all swore by
it, and Horace Walpole, who wished to try it upon Mme. du Deffand in
extremis,

page 161



said he should use it if the house were on fire. William Hawes, the
Strand apothecary who attended Goldsmith, wrote an interesting Account
of the late Dr. Goldsmith's Illness, so far as relates to the Exhibition
of Dr. James's Powders, etc., 1774, which he dedicated to Reynolds and
Burke. To Hawes once belonged the poet's worn old wooden writing-desk,
now in the South Kensington Museum, where are also his favourite chair
and cane. Another desk- chair, which had descended from his friend,
Edmund Bott, was recently for sale at Sotheby's (July, 1906).


EDITIONS OF THE POEMS.

No collected edition of Goldsmith's poetical works appeared until after
his death. But, in 1775, W. Griffin, who had published the Essays of
ten years earlier, issued a volume entitled The Miscellaneous Works of
Oliver Goldsmith, M.B., containing all his Essays and Poems. The 'poems'
however were confined to 'The Traveller,' 'The Deserted Village,'
'Edwin and Angelina,' 'The Double Transformation,' 'A New Simile,' and
'Retaliation,'an obviously imperfect harvesting. In the following
year G. Kearsly printed an eighth edition of Retaliation, with which
he included 'The Hermit' ('Edwin and Angelina'), 'The Gift,' 'Madam
Blaize,' and the epilogues to The Sister and She stoops to Conquer;*
while to an edition of The Haunch of Venison, also put forth in 1776,
he added the 'Epitaph on Parnell' and two songs from the oratorio of The
Captivity. The next collection appeared in a volume of Poems and Plays
published at Dublin in 1777, where it was preceded by a 'Life,' written
by W. Glover, one of Goldsmith's 'Irish clients.' Then, in 1780, came
vol. i of T. Evans's Poetical and Dramatic Works, etc., now first
collected, also having a 'Memoir,' and certainly fuller than anything
which had gone before. Next followed the long-deferred Miscellaneous
Works, etc., of 1801, in four volumes, vol. ii of which comprised the
plays and poems. Prefixed to this edition is the important biographical
sketch, compiled under the direction of Bishop Percy, and usually
described as the Percy Memoir, by which title it is referred to in the
ensuing

*Some copies of this are dated 1777, and contain The Haunch of Venison
and a few minor pieces.

page 162



notes. The next memorable edition was that edited for the Aldine Series
in 1831, by the Rev. John Mitford. Prior and Wright's edition in vol. iv
of the Miscellaneous Works, etc., of 1837, comes after this; then
Bolton Corney's excellent Poetical Works of 1845; and vol. i of Peter
Cunningham's Works, etc. of 1854. There are other issues of the poems,
the latest of which is to be found in vol. ii (1885) of the complete
Works, in five volumes, edited for Messrs. George Bell and Sons by J. W.
M. Gibbs.

Most of the foregoing editions have been consulted for the following
notes; but chiefly those of Mitford, Prior, Bolton Corney, and
Cunningham. Many of the illustrations and explanations now supplied
will not, however, be found in any of the sources indicated. When an
elucidatory or parallel passage is cited, an attempt has been made, as
far as possible, to give the credit of it to the first discoverer. Thus,
some of the illustrations in Cunningham's notes are here transferred to
Prior, some of Prior's to Mitford, and so forth. As regards the notes
themselves, care has been taken to make them full enough to obviate the
necessity, except in rare instances, of further investigation. It is the
editor's experience that references to external authorities are, as a
general rule, sign-posts to routes which are seldom travelled.*


THE TRAVELLER.

It was on those continental wanderings which occupied Goldsmith between
February, 1755 and February, 1756 that he conceived his first idea of
this, the earliest of his poems to which he prefixed his name; and he
probably had in mind Addison's Letter from Italy to Lord Halifax, a work
in which he found 'a strain of political thinking that was, at that time
[1701]. new in our poetry.' (Beauties of English Poesy, 1767, i. III).
From the dedicatory letter to his brotherwhich says expressly, 'as
a part of this Poem was formerly written to you from Switzerland, the
whole can now, with propriety, be only inscribed

*In this connexion may be recalled the dictum of Hume quoted by Dr.
Birkbeck Hill:'Every book should be as complete as possible within
itself, and should never refer for anything material to other books'
(History of England, 1802, ii. 101).

page 163



to you'it is plain that some portion of it must have been actually
composed abroad. It was not, however, actually published until the
19th of December, 1764, and the title- page bore the date of 1765.* The
publisher was John Newbery, of St. Paul's Churchyard, and the price of
the book, a quarto of 30 pages, was 1s. 6d. A second, third and fourth
edition quickly followed, and a ninth, from which it is here reprinted,
was issued in 1774, the year of the author's death. Between the first
and the sixth edition of 1770 there were numerous alterations, the more
important of which are indicated in the ensuing notes.

The didactic purpose of The Traveller is defined in the concluding
paragraph of the Dedication; and, like many of the thoughts which it
contains, had been anticipated in a passage

*This is the generally recognized first edition. But the late Mr.
Frederick Locker Lampson, the poet and collector, possessed a quarto
copy, dated 1764, which had no author's name, and in which the
dedication ran as follows:'This poem is inscribed to the Rev. Henry
Goldsmith, M.A. By his most affectionate Brother Oliver Goldsmith.' It
was, in all probability, unique, though it is alleged that there are
octavo copies which present similar characteristics. It has now gone to
America with the Rowfant Library.

In 1902 an interesting discovery was made by Mr. Bertram Dobell, to whom
the public are indebted for so many important literary 'finds.' In
a parcel of pamphlets he came upon a number of loose printed leaves
entitled A Prospect of Society. They obviously belonged to The
Traveller; but seemed to be its 'formless unarranged material,' and
contained many variations from the text of the first edition. Mr.
Dobell's impression was that 'the author's manuscript, written on loose
leaves, had fallen into confusion, and was then printed without any
attempt at re-arrangement.' This was near the mark; but the complete
solution of the riddle was furnished by Mr. Quiller Couch in an article
in the Daily News for March 31, 1902, since recast in his charming
volume From a Cornish Window, 1906, pp. 86-92. He showed conclusively
that The Prospect was 'merely an early draft of The Traveller printed
backwards in fairly regular sections.' What had manifestly happened was
this. Goldsmith, turning over each page as written, had laid it on the
top of the preceding page of MS. and forgotten to rearrange them when
done. Thus the series of pages were reversed; and, so reversed, were set
up in type by a matter-of-fact compositor. Mr. Dobell at once accepted
this happy explanation; whichas Mr. Quiller Couch points outhas the
advantage of being a 'blunder just so natural to Goldsmith as to
be almost postulable.' One or two of the variations of Mr. Dobell's
'find'variations, it should be added, antecedent to the first
editionare noted in their places.

page 164



of The Citizen of the World, 1762, i. 185:'Every mind seems capable of
entertaining a certain quantity of happiness, which no institutions can
encrease, no circumstances alter, and entirely independent on fortune.'
But the best short description of the poem is Macaulay's:'In the
Traveller the execution, though deserving of much praise, is far
inferior to the design. No philosophical poem, ancient or modern, has
a plan so noble, and at the same time so simple. An English wanderer,
seated on a crag among the Alps, near the point where three great
countries meet, looks down on the boundless prospect, reviews his long
pilgrimage, recalls the varieties of scenery, of climate, of government,
of religion, of national character, which he has observed, and comes
to the conclusion, just or unjust, that our happiness depends little on
political institutions, and much on the temper and regulation of our own
minds.' (Encyclop. Britannica, Goldsmith, February, 1856.)

The only definite record of payment for The Traveller is 'Copy of the
Traveller, a Poem, 21l,' in Newbery's MSS.; but as the same sum occurs
in Memoranda of much later date than 1764, it is possible that the
success of the book may have prompted some supplementary fee.

A Prospect, i.e. 'a view.' 'I went to Putney, and other places on the
Thames, to take 'prospects' in crayon, to carry into France, where I
thought to have them engraved' (Evelyn, Diary, 20th June, 1649). And
Reynolds uses the word of Claude in his Fourth Discourse:'His pictures
are a composition of the various draughts which he had previously made
from various beautiful scenes and prospects' (Works, by Malone, 1798,
i. 105). The word is common on old prints, e.g. An Exact Prospect of the
Magnificent Stone Bridge at Westminster, etc., 1751.

Dedication. The Rev. Henry Goldsmith, says the Percy Memoir, 1801, p.
3, 'had distinguished himself both at school and at college, but he
unfortunately married at the early age of nineteen; which confined him
to a Curacy, and prevented his rising to preferment in the church.'

with an income of forty pounds a year. Cf. The Deserted Village, ll.
141-2:

A man he was, to all the country dear, And passing rich with forty
pounds a year.

page 165



Cf. also Parson Adams in ch. iii of Joseph Andrews, who has twenty-
three; and Mr. Rivers, in the Spiritual Quixote, 1772:'I do not choose
to go into orders to be a curate all my life-time, and work for about
fifteen- pence a day, or twenty-five pounds a year' (bk. vi, ch. xvii).
Dr. Primrose's stipend is thirty-five in the first instance, fifteen
in the second (Vicar of Wakefield, chapters ii and iii). But Professor
Hales (Longer English Poems, 1885, p. 351) supplies an exact parallel in
the case of Churchill, who, he says, when a curate at Rainham, 'prayed
and starved on forty pounds a year.' The latter words are Churchill's
own, and sound like a quotation; but he was dead long before The
Deserted Village appeared in 1770. There is an interesting paper in the
Gentleman's Magazine for November, 1763, on the miseries and hardships
of the 'inferior clergy.'

But of all kinds of ambition, etc. In the first edition of 1765, p. ii,
this passage was as follows:'But of all kinds of ambition, as things
are now circumstanced, perhaps that which pursues poetical fame, is
the wildest. What from the encreased refinement of the times, from the
diversity of judgments produced by opposing systems of criticism, and
from the more prevalent divisions of opinion influenced by party, the
strongest and happiest efforts can expect to please but in a very narrow
circle. Though the poet were as sure of his aim as the imperial archer
of antiquity, who boasted that he never missed the heart; yet would many
of his shafts now fly at random, for the heart is too often in the wrong
place.' In the second edition it was curtailed; in the sixth it took its
final form.

they engross all that favour once shown to her. First version'They
engross all favour to themselves.'

the elder's birthright. Cunningham here aptly compares Dryden's epistle
To Sir Godfrey Kneller, II. 89-92:

Our arts are sisters, though not twins in birth; For hymns were sung in
Eden's happy earth: But oh, the painter muse, though last in place, Has
seized the blessing first, like Jacob's race.

Party=faction. Cf. lines 31-2 on Edmund Burke in Retaliation:

Who, born for the Universe, narrow'd his mind, And to party gave up what
was meant for mankind.

page 166



Such readers generally admire, etc. 'I suppose this paragraph to be
directed against Paul Whitehead, or Churchill,' writes Mitford. It was
clearly aimed at Churchill, since Prior (Life, 1837, ii. 54) quotes
a portion of a contemporary article in the St. James's Chronicle for
February 7-9, 1765, attributed to Bonnell Thornton, which leaves little
room for doubt upon the question. 'The latter part of this paragraph,'
says the writer, referring to the passage now annotated, 'we cannot help
considering as a reflection on the memory of the late Mr. Churchill,
whose talents as a poet were so greatly and so deservedly admired, that
during his short reign, his merit in great measure eclipsed that of
others; and we think it no mean acknowledgment of the excellencies of
this poem [The Traveller] to say that, like the stars, they appear the
more brilliant now that the sun of our poetry is gone down.' Churchill
died on the 4th of November, 1764, some weeks before the publication of
The Traveller. His powers, it may be, were misdirected and misapplied;
but his rough vigour and his manly verse deserved a better fate at
Goldsmith's hands.

tawdry was added in the sixth edition of 1770.

blank verse. Cf. The Present State of Polite Learning, 1759, p.
150'From a desire in the critic of grafting the spirit of ancient
languages upon the English, has proceeded of late several disagreeable
instances of pedantry. Among the number, I think we may reckon blank
verse. Nothing but the greatest sublimity of subject can render such
a measure pleasing; however, we now see it used on the most trivial
occasions'by which last remark Goldsmith probably, as Cunningham
thinks, intended to refer to the efforts of Akenside, Dyer, and
Armstrong. His views upon blank verse were shared by Johnson and Gray.
At the date of the present dedication, the latest offender in this way
had been Goldsmith's old colleague on The Monthly Review, Dr. James
Grainger, author of The Sugar Cane, which was published in June, 1764.
(Cf. also The Bee for 24th November, 1759, 'An account of the Augustan
Age of England.')

and that this principle, etc. In the first edition this read'and that
this principle in each state, and in our own in particular, may be
carried to a mischievous excess.'

page 167



Remote, unfriended, melancholy, slow. Mitford (Aldine edition, 1831, p.
7) compares the following lines from Ovid:

Solus, inops, exspes, leto poenaeque relictus. Metamorphoses, xiv. 217.
Exsul, inops erres, alienaque limina lustres, etc. Ibis. 113.

slow. A well-known passage from Boswell must here be
reproduced:'Chamier once asked him [Goldsmith], what he meant by slow,
the last word in the first line of The Traveller,

Remote, unfriended, melancholy, slow.

Did he mean tardiness of locomotion? Goldsmith, who would say something
without consideration, answered "yes." I [Johnson] was sitting by, and
said, "No, Sir, you do not mean tardiness of locomotion; you mean,
that sluggishness of mind which comes upon a man in solitude." Chamier
believed then that I had written the line as much as if he had seen me
write it.' [Birkbeck Hill's Boswell, 1887, iii. 252- 3.) It is quite
possible, however, that Goldsmith meant no more than he said.

the rude Carinthian boor. 'Carinthia,' says Cunningham, 'was visited
by Goldsmith in 1755, and still (1853) retains its character for
inhospitality.'

Campania. 'Intended,' says Bolton Corney, 'to denote La campagna di
Roma. The portion of it which extends from Rome to Terracina is scarcely
habitable.'

a lengthening chain. Prior compares Letter iii of The Citizen of the
World, 1762, i. 5:'The farther I travel I feel the pain of separation
with stronger force, those ties that bind me to my native country, and
you, are still unbroken. By every remove, I only drag a greater length
of chain.' But, as Mitford points out, Cibber has a similar thought in
his Comical Lovers, 1707, Act v:'When I am with Florimel, it [my heart]
is still your prisoner, it only draws a longer chain after it.' And
earlier still in Dryden's 'All for Love', 1678, Act ii, Sc. 1:

My life on't, he still drags a chain along, That needs must clog his
flight.

with simple plenty crown'd. In the first edition this read 'where mirth
and peace abound.'

page 168



the luxury of doing good. Prior compares Garth's Claremont, 1715, where
he speaks of the Druids:

Hard was their Lodging, homely was their Food, For all their Luxury was
doing Good.

my prime of life. He was seven- and-twenty when he landed at Dover in
February, 1756.

That, like the circle bounding, etc. Cf. Vicar of Wakefield, 1766, ii.
160-1 (ch. x):'Death, the only friend of the wretched, for a little
while mocks the weary traveller with the view, and like his horizon,
still flies before him.' [Prior.]

And find no spot of all the world my own. Prior compares his namesake's
lines In the Beginning of [Jacques] Robbe's Geography, 1700:

My destin'd Miles I shall have gone, By THAMES or MAESE, by PO or RHONE,
And found no Foot of Earth my own.

above the storm's career. Cf. 1. 190 of The Deserted Village.

should thankless pride repine? First edition, ''twere thankless to
repine.'

Say, should the philosophic mind, etc. First edition:

'Twere affectation all, and school-taught pride, To spurn the splendid
things by heaven supply'd

hoard. 'Sum' in the first edition.

Boldly proclaims that happiest spot his own. In the first version this
was

Boldly asserts that country for his own.

And yet, perhaps, etc. In the first edition, for this and the following
five lines appeared these eight:

And yet, perhaps, if states with states we scan, Or estimate their bliss
on Reason's plan, Though patriots flatter, and though fools contend,
We still shall find uncertainty suspend; Find that each good, by Art or
Nature given, To these or those, but makes the balance even: Find that
the bliss of all is much the same, And patriotic boasting reason's
shame!

page 169



On Idra's cliffs. Bolton Corney conjectures that Goldsmith meant 'Idria,
a town in Carniola, noted for its mines.' 'Goldsmith in his "History of
Animated Nature" makes mention of the mines, and spells the name in the
same way as here.' (Mr. J. H. Lobban's Select Poems of Goldsmith, 1900,
p. 87). Lines 84-5, it may be added, are not in the first edition.

And though the rocky-crested summits frown. In the first edition:

And though rough rocks or gloomy summits frown.

lines 91-2. are not in the first editions.

peculiar, i.e. 'proper,' 'appropriate.'

winnow, i.e. 'waft,' 'disperse.' John Evelyn refers to these 'sea-born
gales' in the 'Dedication' of his Fumifugium, 1661: 'Those who take
notice of the scent of the orange- flowers from the rivage of Genoa, and
St. Pietro dell' Arena; the blossomes of the rosemary from the Coasts of
Spain, many leagues off at sea; or the manifest, and odoriferous wafts
which flow from Fontenay and Vaugirard, even to Paris in the season of
roses, with the contrary effect of those less pleasing smells from other
accidents, will easily consent to what I suggest [i.e. the planting of
sweet-smelling trees].' (Miscellaneous Writings, 1825, p. 208.)

Till, more unsteady, etc. In the first edition:

But, more unsteady than the southern gale, Soon Commerce turn'd on other
shores her sail.

There is a certain resemblance between this passage and one of the later
paradoxes of Smollett's Lismahago;'He affirmed, the nature of commerce
was such, that it could not be fixed or perpetuated, but, having flowed
to a certain height, would immediately begin to ebb, and so continue
till the channels should be left almost dry; but there was no instance
of the tide's rising a second time to any considerable influx in the
same nation' (Humphry Clinker, 1771, ii. 192. Letter of Mr. Bramble to
Dr. Lewis).

lines 141- 2. are not in the first edition.

Its former strength was but plethoric ill. Cf. The Citizen of the World,
1762, i. 98:'In short, the state resembled one of those bodies bloated
with disease, whose bulk is only a symptom of its wretchedness.'
[Mitford.]

page 170



Yet still the loss, etc. In the first edition:

Yet, though to fortune lost, here still abide Some splendid arts, the
wrecks of former pride.

The paste- board triumph and the cavalcade. 'Happy Country [he is
speaking of Italy], where the pastoral age begins to revive! Where the
wits even of Rome are united into a rural groupe of nymphs and swains,
under the appellation of modern Arcadians [i.e. the Bolognese Academy
of the Arcadi]. Where in the midst of porticos, processions, and
cavalcades, abbes turn'd into shepherds, and shepherdesses without
sheep, indulge their innocent divertimenti.' (Present State of Polite
Learning, 1759, pp. 50- 1.) Some of the 'paste-board triumphs' may be
studied in the plates of Jacques Callot.

By sports like these, etc. A pretty and well- known story is told with
regard to this couplet. Calling once on Goldsmith, Reynolds, having
vainly tried to attract attention, entered unannounced. 'His friend was
at his desk, but with hand uplifted, and a look directed to another part
of the room; where a little dog sat with difficulty on his haunches,
looking imploringly at his teacher, whose rebuke for toppling over
he had evidently just received. Reynolds advanced, and looked past
Goldsmith's shoulder at the writing on his desk. It seemed to be some
portions of a poem; and looking more closely, he was able to read a
couplet which had been that instant written. The ink of the second line
was wet:

By sports like these are all their cares beguil'd; The sports of
children satisfy the child. (Forster's Life, 1871, i. pp. 347-8).

The sports of children. This line, in the first edition, was followed
by:

At sports like these, while foreign arms advance, In passive ease they
leave the world to chance.

Each nobler aim, etc. The first edition reads:

When struggling Virtue sinks by long controul, She leaves at last, or
feebly mans the soul.

This was changed in the second, third, fourth, and fifth editions to:

page 171



When noble aims have suffer'd long controul, They sink at last, or
feebly man the soul.

No product here, etc. The Swiss mercenaries, here referred to, were long
famous in European warfare.

They parted with a thousand kisses, And fight e'er since for pay, like
Swisses. Gay's Aye and No, a Fable.

breasts This fine use of 'breasts'as Cunningham points outis given by
Johnson as an example in his Dictionary.

With patient angle, trolls the finny deep. 'Troll,' i.e. as for pike.
Goldsmith uses 'finny prey' in The Citizen of the World, 1762, ii.
99:'The best manner to draw up the finny prey.' Cf. also 'warbling
grove,' Deserted Village, l. 361, as a parallel to 'finny deep.'

the struggling savage, i.e. wolf or bear. Mitford compares the
following:'He is a beast of prey, and the laws should make use of as
many stratagems and as much force to drive the reluctant savage into
the toils, as the Indians when they hunt the hyena or the rhinoceros.'
(Citizen of the World, 1762, i. 112.) See also Pope's Iliad, Bk. xvii:

But if the savage turns his glaring eye, They howl aloof, and round the
forest fly.

lines 201- 2 are not in the first edition.

For every want, etc. Mitford quotes a parallel passage in Animated
Nature, 1774, ii. 123:'Every want thus becomes a means of pleasure, in
the redressing.'

Their morals, like their pleasures, are but low. Probably Goldsmith only
uses 'low' here in its primitive sense, and not in that which, in his
own day, gave so much umbrage to so many eighteenth-century students of
humanity in the rough. Cf. Fielding, Tom Jones, 1749, iii. 6: 'Some of
the Author's Friends cry'd"Look'e, Gentlemen, the Man is a Villain; but
it is Nature for all that." And all the young Critics of the Age, the
Clerks, Apprentices, etc., called it Low and fell a Groaning.' See also
Tom Jones, iv. 94, and 226-30. 'There's nothing comes out but the 'most
lowest' stuff in nature'says Lady Blarney in ch. xi of the Vicar,
whose author is eloquent on this topic in The Present State of Polite
Learning, 1759, pp. 154-6, and in

page 172



She Stoops to Conquer, 1773 (Act i); while Graves (Spiritual Quixote,
1772, bk. i, ch. vi) gives the fashion the scientific appellation of
tapino-phoby, which he defines as 'a dread of everything that is low,
either in writing or in conversation.' To Goldsmith, if we may trust
George Colman's Prologue to Miss Lee's Chapter of Accidents, 1780,
belongs the credit of exorcising this particular form of depreciation:

When Fielding, Humour's fav'rite child, appear'd, Low was the worda
word each author fear'd! Till chas'd at length, by pleasantry's bright
ray, Nature and mirth resum'd their legal sway; And Goldsmith's genius
bask'd in open day.

According to Borrow's Lavengro, ch. xli, Lord Chesterfield considered
that the speeches of Homer's heroes were frequently 'exceedingly low.'

How often, etc. This and the lines which immediately follow are
autobiographical. Cf. George Primrose's story in The Vicar of Wakefield,
1766, ii. 24-5 (ch. i):'I passed among the harmless peasants of
Flanders, and among such of the French as were poor enough to be very
merry; for I ever found them sprightly in proportion to their wants.
Whenever I approached a peasant's house towards night-fall, I played
one of my most merry tunes, and that procured me not only a lodging, but
subsistence for the next day.'

gestic lore, i.e. traditional gestures or motions. Scott uses the word
'gestic' in Peveril of the Peak, ch. xxx, where King Charles the Second
witnesses the dancing of Fenella:'He bore time to her motions with the
movement of his footapplauded with head and with handand seemed, like
herself, carried away by the enthusiasm of the gestic art.' [Hales.]

Thus idly busy rolls their world away. Pope has 'Life's idle business'
(Unfortunate Lady, l. 81), and

The busy, idle blockheads of the ball. Donne's Satires, iv. l. 203.

And all are taught an avarice of praise. Professor Hales (Longer English
Poems) compares Horace of the Greeks:

Praeter laudem, nullius avaris. Ars Poetica, l. 324.

page 173



copper lace. 'St Martin's lace,' for which, in Strype's day, Blowbladder
St. was famous. Cf. the actress's 'copper tail' in Citizen of the World,
1762, ii. 60.

To men of other minds, etc. Prior compares with the description that
follows a passage in vol. i. p. 276 of Animated Nature, 1774:'But
we need scarce mention these, when we find that the whole kingdom of
Holland seems to be a conquest upon the sea, and in a manner rescued
from its bosom. The surface of the earth, in this country, is below the
level of the bed of the sea; and I remember, upon approaching the coast,
to have looked down upon it from the sea, as into a valley.'

Where the broad ocean leans against the land. Cf. Dryden in Annus
Mirabilis, 1666, st. clxiv. l. 654:

And view the ocean leaning on the sky.

the tall rampire's, i.e. rampart's (Old French, rempart, rempar). Cf.
Timon of Athens, Act v. Sc. 4:'Our rampir'd gates.'

bosom reign in the first edition was 'breast obtain.'

Even liberty itself is barter'd here. 'Slavery,' says Mitford, 'was
permitted in Holland; children were sold by their parents for a certain
number of years.'

A land of tyrants, and a den of slaves. Goldsmith uses this very line as
prose in Letter xxxiv of The Citizen of the World, 1762, i. 147.

dishonourable graves. Julius Caesar, Act i. Sc. 2.

Heavens! how unlike, etc. Prior compares a passage from a manuscript
Introduction to the History of the Seven Years' War:'How unlike the
brave peasants their ancestors, who spread terror into either India,
and always declared themselves the allies of those who drew the sword in
defence of freedom.'*

famed Hydaspes, i.e. the fabulosus Hydaspes of Horace, Bk. i. Ode xxii,
and the Medus Hydaspes of Virgil, Georg, iv. 211, of which so many
stores were told. It is now known as the Jhilum, one of the five rivers
which give the Punjaub its name.

Pride in their port, etc. In the first edition these two lines were
inverted.

*J. W. M. Gibbs (Works, v. 9) discovered that parts of this History,
hitherto supposed to have been written in 1761, were published in the
Literary Magazine, 1757-8.

page 174



Here by the bonds of nature feebly held. In the first edition

See, though by circling deeps together held.

Nature's ties was 'social bonds' in the first edition.

Where kings have toil'd, and poets wrote for fame. In the first edition
this line read:

And monarchs toil, and poets pant for fame.

Yet think not, etc. 'In the things I have hitherto written I have
neither allured the vanity of the great by flattery, nor satisfied the
malignity of the vulgar by scandal, but I have endeavoured to get an
honest reputation by liberal pursuits.' (Preface to English History.)
[Mitford.]

Ye powers of truth, etc. The first version has:

Perish the wish; for, inly satisfy'd, Above their pomps I hold my ragged
pride.

Mr. Forster thinks (Life, 1871, i. 375) that Goldsmith altered this
(i.e. 'ragged pride') because, like the omitted Haud inexpertus loquor
of the Enquiry, it involved an undignified admission.

lines 365- 80 are not in the first edition.

Contracting regal power to stretch their own. 'It is the interest of the
great, therefore, to diminish kingly power as much as possible; because
whatever they take from it is naturally restored to themselves; and all
they have to do in a state, is to undermine the single tyrant, by which
they resume their primaeval authority.' (Vicar of Wakefield, 1766, i.
202, ch. xix.)

When I behold, etc. Prior compares a passage in Letter xlix of The
Citizen of the World, 1762, i. 218, where the Roman senators are
spoken of as still flattering the people 'with a shew of freedom, while
themselves only were free.'

Laws grind the poor, and rich men rule the law. Prior notes a
corresponding utterance in The Vicar of Wakefield, 1766, i. 206, ch.
xix:'What they may then expect, may be seen by turning our eyes to
Holland, Genoa, or Venice, where the laws govern the poor, and the rich
govern the law.'

I fly from petty tyrants to the throne. Cf. Dr. Primrose, ut supra, p.
201:'The generality of mankind also are of my

page 175



way of thinking, and have unanimously created one king, whose election
at once diminishes the number of tyrants, and puts tyranny at the
greatest distance from the greatest number of people.' Cf. also
Churchill, The Farewell, ll. 363-4 and 369-70:

Let not a Mob of Tyrants seize the helm, Nor titled upstarts league to
rob the realm... Let us, some comfort in our griefs to bring, Be slaves
to one, and be that one a King.

lines 393- 4. Goldsmith's first thought was

Yes, my lov'd brother, cursed be that hour When first ambition toil'd
for foreign power,

an entirely different couplet to that in the text, and certainly more
logical. (Dobell's Prospect of Society, 1902, pp. xi, 2, and Notes, v,
vi). Mr. Dobell plausibly suggests that this Tory substitution is due to
Johnson.

Have we not seen, etc. These lines contain the first idea of the
subsequent poem of The Deserted Village (q.v.).

Where wild Oswego spreads her swamps around. The Oswego is a river which
runs between Lakes Oneida and Ontario. In the Threnodia Augustalis,
1772, Goldsmith writes:

Oswego's dreary shores shall be my grave.

The 'desarts of Oswego' were familiar to the eighteenth-century reader
in connexion with General Braddock's ill- fated expedition of 1755, an
account of which Goldsmith had just given in An History of England, in a
Series of Letters from a Nobleman to his Son, 1764, ii. 202-4.

marks with murderous aim. In the first edition 'takes a deadly aim.'

pensive exile. This, in the version mentioned in the next note, was
'famish'd exile.'

To stop too fearful, and too faint to go. This line, upon Boswell's
authority, is claimed for Johnson (Birkbeck Hill's Boswell, 1887, ii.
6). Goldsmith's original ran:

And faintly fainter, fainter seems to go.

(Dobell's Prospect of Society, 1902, p. 3).

How small, of all, etc. Johnson wrote these concluding

page 176



ten lines with the exception of the penultimate couplet. They and line
420 were allhe told Boswellof which he could be sure (Birkbeck Hill's
Boswell, ut supra). Like Goldsmith, he sometimes worked his prose ideas
into his verse. The first couplet is apparently a reminiscence of a
passage in his own Rasselas, 1759, ii. 112, where the astronomer speaks
of 'the task of a king . . . who has the care only of a few millions, to
whom he cannot do much good or harm.' (Grant's Johnson, 1887, p. 89.) 'I
would not give half a guinea to live under one form of government rather
than another,' he told that 'vile Whig,' Sir Adam Fergusson, in 1772.
'It is of no moment to the happiness of an individual' (Birkbeck Hill's
Boswell, 1887, ii. 170).

The lifted axe. Mitford here recalls Blackmore's

Some the sharp axe, and some the painful wheel.

The 'lifted axe' he also traces to Young and Blackmore, with both
of whom Goldsmith seems to have been familiar; but it is surely not
necessary to assume that he borrowed from either in this instance.

Luke's iron crown. George and Luke Dosa, or Doscha, headed a rebellion
in Hungary in 1513. The former was proclaimed king by the peasants; and,
in consequence suffered, among other things, the torture of the red- hot
iron crown. Such a punishment took place at Bordeaux when Montaigne was
seventeen (Morley's Florio's Montaigne, 1886, p. xvi). Much ink has been
shed over Goldsmith's lapse of 'Luke' for George. In the book which he
cited as his authority, the family name of the brothers was given as
Zeck,hence Bolton Corney, in his edition of the Poetical Works, 1845,
p. 36, corrected the line to

Zeck's iron crown, etc.,

an alteration which has been adopted by other editors. (See also
Forster's Life, 1871, i. 370.)

Damien's bed of steel. Robert- Francois Damiens, 1714-57. Goldsmith
writes 'Damien's.' In the Gentlemen's Magazine for 1757, vol. xxvii. pp.
87 and 151, where there is an account of this poor half- witted wretch's
torture and execution for attempting to assassinate Louis XV, the name
is thus spelled, as also in other contemporary records and caricatures.
The following passage explains the 'bed of steel':'Being conducted

page 177



to the Conciergerie, an 'iron bed', which likewise served for a chair,
was prepared for him, and to this he was fastened with chains. The
torture was again applied, and a physician ordered to attend to see what
degree of pain he could support,' etc. (Smollett's History of England,
1823, bk. iii, ch. 7, § xxv.) Goldsmith's own explanationaccording to
Tom Davies, the booksellerwas that he meant the rack. But Davies may
have misunderstood him, or Goldsmith himself may have forgotten the
facts. (See Forster's Life, 1871, i. 370.) At pp. 57- 78 of the Monthly
Review for July, 1757 (upon which Goldsmith was at this date employed),
is a summary, 'from our correspondent at Paris,' of the official record
of the Damiens' Trial, 4 vols. 12 mo.; and his deed and tragedy make
a graphic chapter in the remarkable Strange Adventures of Captain
Dangerous, by George Augustus Sala, 1863, iii. pp. 154-180.

line 438. In the first edition of 'The Traveller' there are only 416
lines.


THE DESERTED VILLAGE.

After having been for some time announced as in preparation, The
Deserted Village made its first appearance on May 26, 1770.* It was
received with great enthusiasm. In June a second, third, and fourth
edition followed, and in August a fifth was published. The text here
given is that of the fourth edition, which was considerably revised.
Johnson, we are told, thought The Deserted Village inferior to The
Traveller: but 'time,' to use Mr. Forster's words, 'has not confirmed
that judgment.' Its germ is perhaps to be found in ll. 397-402 of the
earlier poem.

*In the American Bookman for February, 1901, pp. 563-7, Mr. Luther S.
Livingston gives an account (with facsimile title-pages) of three octavo
(or rather duodecimo) editions all dated 1770; and ostensibly printed
for 'W. Griffin, at Garrick's Head, in Catherine-street, Strand.' He
rightly describes their existence as 'a bibliographical puzzle.' They
afford no important variations; are not mentioned by the early editors;
and are certainly not in the form in which the poem was first advertised
and reviewed, as this was a quarto. But they are naturally of interest
to the collector; and the late Colonel Francis Grant, a good Goldsmith
scholar, described one of them in the Athenaeum for June 20, 1896 (No.
3582).

page 178



Much research has been expended in the endeavour to identify the scene
with Lissoy, the home of the poet's youth (see Introduction, p. ix);
but the result has only been partially successful. The truth seems that
Goldsmith, living in England, recalled in a poem that was English in
its conception many of the memories and accessories of his early life
in Ireland, without intending or even caring to draw an exact picture.
Hence, as Lord Macaulay has observed, in a much criticized and
characteristic passage, 'it is made up of incongruous parts. The village
in its happy days is a true English village. The village in its decay
is an Irish village. The felicity and the misery which Goldsmith has
brought close together belong to two different countries, and to two
different stages in the progress of society. He had assuredly never
seen in his native island such a rural paradise, such a seat of plenty,
content, and tranquillity, as his "Auburn." He had assuredly never seen
in England all the inhabitants of such a paradise turned out of their
homes in one day and forced to emigrate in a body to America. The hamlet
he had probably seen in Kent; the ejectment he had probably seen in
Munster; but, by joining the two, he has produced something which
never was and never will be seen in any part of the world.' (Encyclop.
Britannica, 1856.) It is obvious also that in some of his theoriesthe
depopulation of the kingdom, for exampleGoldsmith was mistaken. But it
was not for its didactic qualities then, nor is it for them now,
that The Deserted Village' delighted and delights. It maintains
its popularity by its charming genre-pictures, its sweet and tender
passages, its simplicity, its sympathetic hold upon the enduring
in human nature. To test it solely with a view to establish its
topographical accuracy, or to insist too much upon the value of its
ethical teaching, is to mistake its real mission as a work of art.

Dedication. I am ignorant of that art in which you are said to excel.
This modest confession did not prevent Goldsmith from making fun of the
contemporary connoisseur. See the letter from the young virtuoso in The
Citizen of the World, 1762, i. 145, announcing that a famous 'torse'
has been discovered to be not 'a Cleopatra bathing' but 'a Hercules
spinning'; and Charles Primrose's experiences at Paris (Vicar of
Wakefield, 1766, ii. 27-8).

page 179



He is since dead. Henry Goldsmith died in May, 1768, at the age of
forty- five, being then curate of Kilkenny West. (See note, p. 164.)

a long poem. 'I might dwell upon such thoughts . . . were I not afraid
of making this preface too tedious; especially since I shall want all
the patience of the reader, for having enlarged it with the following
verses.' (Tickell's Preface to Addison's Works, at end.)

the increase of our luxuries. The evil of luxury was a 'common topick'
with Goldsmith. (Birkbeck Hill's Boswell, 1887, ii. 217-8.) Smollett
also, speaking with the voice of Lismahago, and continuing the quotation
on p. 169, was of the opinion that 'the sudden affluence occasioned by
trade, forced open all the sluices of luxury, and overflowed the land
with every species of profligacy and corruption.' (Humphry Clinker,
1771, ii. 192.Letter of Mr. Bramble to Dr. Lewis.)


Sweet AUBURN. Forster, Life, 1871, ii. 206, says that Goldsmith obtained
this name from Bennet Langton. There is an Aldbourn or Auburn in
Wiltshire, not far from Marlborough, which Prior thinks may have
furnished the suggestion.

Seats of my youth. This alone would imply that Goldsmith had in mind the
environment of his Irish home.

The decent church that topp'd the neighbouring hill. This corresponds
with the church of Kilkenny West as seen from the house at Lissoy.

Kilkenny West Church KILKENNY WEST CHURCH (R. H. Newell)

The hawthorn bush. The Rev. Annesley Strean, Henry Goldsmith's successor
at Kilkenny West, well remembered the hawthorn bush in front of the
village ale-house. It had originally three trunks; but when he wrote
in 1807 only one remained, 'the other two having been cut, from time to
time, by persons carrying pieces of it away to be made into toys, etc.,
in honour of the bard, and of the celebrity of his poem.' (Essay on
Light Reading, by the Rev. Edward Mangin, M.A., 1808, 142-3.) Its
remains were enclosed by a Captain Hogan previously to 1819; but
nevertheless when Prior visited the place in 1830, nothing was apparent
but 'a very tender shoot [which] had again forced its way to the
surface.' (Prior, Life, 1837, ii. 264.) An engraving of the tree by S.
Alken, from a sketch made in 1806-9, is to be

Hawthorn Tree

HAWTHORN TREE (R. H. Newell)

page 180



found at p. 41 of Goldsmith's Poetical Works, R. H. Newell's edition,
1811, and is reproduced in the present volume.

How often have I bless'd the coming day. Prior, Life, 1837, ii. 261,
finds in this an allusion 'to the Sundays or numerous holidays, usually
kept in Roman Catholic countries.'

Amidst thy bowers the tyrant's hand is seen. Strean's explanation
(Mangin, ut supra, pp. 140-1) of this is as follows:'The poem of The
Deserted Village, took its origin from the circumstance of general
Robert Napper [Napier or Naper], (the grandfather of the gentleman who
now [1807] lives in the house, within half a mile of Lissoy, and built
by the general) having purchased an extensive tract of the country
surrounding Lissoy, or Auburn; in consequence of which many families,
here called cottiers, were removed, to make room for the intended
improvements of what was now to become the wide domain of a rich man,
warm with the idea of changing the face of his new acquisition; and were
forced, "with fainting steps," to go in search of "torrid tracts" and
"distant climes."'

Prior (Life, 1837, i. 40-3) points out that Goldsmith was not the first
to give poetical expression to the wrongs of the dispossessed Irish
peasantry; and he quotes a long extract from the Works (1741) of a
Westmeath poet, Lawrence Whyte, which contains such passages as these:

Their native soil were forced to quit, So Irish landlords thought it
fit; Who without ceremony or rout, For their improvements turn'd them
out ...

How many villages they razed, How many parishes laid waste ...

Whole colonies, to shun the fate Of being oppress'd at such a rate, By
tyrants who still raise their rent, Sail'd to the Western Continent.

The hollow- sounding bittern guards its nest. 'Of all those sounds,'
says Goldsmith, speaking of the cries of waterfowl, 'there is none so
dismally hollow as the booming of the bittern.' . . . 'I remember in the
place where I was a boy with what terror this bird's note affected the
whole village; they

page 181



considered it as the presage of some sad event; and generally found or
made one to succeed it.' (Animated Nature, 1774, vi. 1-2, 4.)

Bewick, who may be trusted to speak of a bird which he has drawn with
such exquisite fidelity, refers (Water Birds, 1847, p. 49) to 'the
hollow booming noise which the bittern makes during the night, in the
breeding season, from its swampy retreats.' Cf. also that close observer
Crabbe (The Borough, Letter xxii, ll. 197-8):

And the loud bittern, from the bull-rush home, Gave from the salt-ditch
side the bellowing boom.

Princes and lords may flourish, or may fade; A breath can make them, as
a breath has made.

Mitford compares Confessio Amantis, fol. 152:

A kynge may make a lorde a knave, And of a knave a lord also;

and Professor Hales recalls Burns's later line in the Cotter's Saturday
Night, 1785:

Princes and lords are but the breath of kings.

But Prior finds the exact equivalent of the second line in the verses of
an old French poet, De. Caux, upon an hour-glass:

C'est un verre qui luit, Qu'un souffle peut détruire, et qu'un souffle a
produit.

A time there was, ere England's griefs began. Here wherever the locality
of Auburn, the author had clearly England in mind. A caustic commentator
has observed that the 'time' indicated must have been a long while ago.

opulence. In the first edition the word is 'luxury.'

And, many a year elapsed, return to view. 'It is strongly contended
at Lishoy, that "the Poet," as he is usually called there, after his
pedestrian tour upon the Continent of Europe, returned to and resided
in the village some time. . . . It is moreover believed, that the havock
which had been made in his absence among those favourite scenes of his
youth, affected his mind so deeply, that he actually composed great part
of the Deserted Village 'at' Lishoy.' (Poetical Works, with Remarks,
etc., by the Rev. R. H. Newell, 1811, p. 74.)

page 182



Notwithstanding the above, there is no evidence that Goldsmith ever
returned to his native island. In a letter to his brother-in-law, Daniel
Hodson, written in 1758, he spoke of hoping to do so 'in five or six
years.' (Percy Memoir, 1801, i. 49). But in another letter, written
towards the close of his life, it is still a thing to come. 'I am
again,' he says, 'just setting out for Bath, and I honestly say I had
much rather it had been for Ireland with my nephew, but that pleasure
I hope to have before I die.' (Letter to Daniel Hodson, no date, in
possession of the late Frederick Locker Lampson.)

Where once the cottage stood, the hawthorn grew. Here followed, in the
first edition:

Here, as with doubtful, pensive steps I range, Trace every scene, and
wonder at the change, Remembrance, etc.

In all my griefsand God has given my share. Prior notes a slight
similarity here to a line of Collins:

Ye mute companions of my toils, that bear, In all my griefs, a more than
equal share! Hassan; or, The Camel Driver.

In The Present State of Polite Learning, 1759, p. 143, Goldsmith refers
feelingly to 'the neglected author of the Persian eclogues, which,
however inaccurate, excel any in our language.' He included four of them
in The Beauties of English Poesy, 1767, i. pp. 239-53.

To husband out, etc. In the first edition this ran:

My anxious day to husband near the close, And keep life's flame from
wasting by repose.

Here to returnand die at home at last. Forster compares a passage in
The Citizen of the World, 1762, ii. 153:'There is something so seducing
in that spot in which we first had existence, that nothing but it can
please; whatever vicissitudes we experience in life, however we toil,
or wheresoever we wander, our fatigued wishes still recur to home for
tranquillity, we long to die in that spot which gave us birth, and in
that pleasing expectation opiate every calamity.' The poet Waller toohe
addswished to die 'like the stag where he was roused.' (Life, 1871, ii.
202.)

page 183



How happy he. 'How blest is he' in the first edition.

And, since 'tis hard to combat, learns to fly. Mitford compares The Bee
for October 13, 1759, p. 56:'By struggling with misfortunes, we are
sure to receive some wounds in the conflict. The only method to come off
victorious, is by running away.'

surly porter. Mr. J. M. Lobban compares the Citizen of the World, 1762,
i. 123:'I never see a nobleman's door half opened that some surly
porter or footman does not stand full in the breach.' (Select Poems of
Goldsmith, 1900, p. 98.)

Bends. 'Sinks' in the first edition. unperceived decay. Cf. Johnson,
Vanity of Human Wishes, 1749, l. 292:

An age that melts with unperceiv'd decay, And glides in modest innocence
away;

and Irene, Act ii, Sc. 7:

And varied life steal unperceiv'd away.

While Resignation, etc. In 1771 Sir Joshua exhibited a picture of 'An
Old Man,' studied from the beggar who was his model for Ugolino. When it
was engraved by Thomas Watson in 1772, he called it 'Resignation,' and
inscribed the print to Goldsmith in the following words:'This attempt
to express a Character in The Deserted Village, is dedicated to Dr.
Goldsmith, by his sincere Friend and admirer, JOSHUA REYNOLDS.'

Up yonder hill. It has been suggested that Goldsmith was here thinking
of the little hill of Knockaruadh (Red Hill) in front of Lissoy
parsonage, of which there is a sketch in Newell's Poetical Works, 1811.
When Newell wrote, it was already known as 'Goldsmith's mount'; and
the poet himself refers to it in a letter to his brother-in-law Hodson,
dated Dec. 27, 1757:'I had rather be placed on the little mount before
Lishoy gate, and there take in, to me, the most pleasing horizon in
nature.' (Percy Memoir, 1801, p. 43.)

And fill'd each pause the nightingale had made. In Animated Nature,
1774, v. 328, Goldsmith says:'The nightingale's pausing song would be
the proper epithet for this bird's music.' [Mitford.]

page 184



No cheerful murmurs fluctuate in the gale. (Cf. Goldsmith's Essay on
Metaphors (British Magazine):'Armstrong has used the word 'fluctuate'
with admirable efficacy, in his philosophical poem entitled The Art of
Preserving Health.

Oh! when the growling winds contend, and all The sounding forest
'fluctuates' in the storm, To sink in warm repose, and hear the din Howl
o'er the steady battlements.

The sad historian of the pensive plain. Strean (see note to l. 13)
identified the old watercress gatherer as a certain Catherine Giraghty
(or Geraghty). Her children (he said) were still living in the
neighbourhood of Lissoy in 1807. (Mangin's Essay on Light Reading, 1808,
p. 142.)

The village preacher's modest mansion rose. 'The Rev. Charles Goldsmith
is allowed by all that knew him, to have been faithfully represented
by his son in the character of the Village Preacher.' So writes his
daughter, Catharine Hodson (Percy Memoir, 1801, p. 3). Others, relying
perhaps upon the 'forty pounds a year' of the Dedication to The
Traveller, make the poet's brother Henry the original; others, again,
incline to kindly Uncle Contarine (vide Introduction). But as Prior
justly says (Life, 1837, ii. 249), 'the fact perhaps is that he fixed
upon no one individual, but borrowing like all good poets and painters a
little from each, drew the character by their combination.'

with forty pounds a year. Cf. Dedication to The Traveller, p. 3, l. 14.

Unpractis'd. 'Unskilful' in the first edition.

More skilled. 'More bent' in the first edition.

The long remember'd beggar. 'The same persons,' says Prior, commenting
upon this passage, 'are seen for a series of years to traverse the same
tract of country at certain intervals, intrude into every house which
is not defended by the usual outworks of wealth, a gate and a porter's
lodge, exact their portion of the food of the family, and even find an
occasional resting- place for the night, or from severe weather, in the
chimney-corner of respectable farmers.' (Life, 1837, ii. 269.) Cf. Scott
on the Scottish mendicants in the 'Advertisement' to The Antiquary,
1816, and Leland's Hist. of Ireland, 1773, i. 35.

The broken soldier. The disbanded soldier let loose

page 185



upon the country at the conclusion of the 'Seven Years' War' was
a familiar figure at this period. Bewick, in his Memoir ('Memorial
Edition'), 1887, pp. 44- 5, describes some of these ancient campaigners
with their battered old uniforms and their endless stories of Minden and
Quebec; and a picture of two of them by T. S. Good of Berwick belonged
to the late Mr. Locker Lampson. Edie Ochiltree (Antiquary)it may be
rememberedhad fought at Fontenoy.

Allur'd to brighter worlds. Cf. Tickell on Addison'Saints who taught
and led the way to Heaven.'

And fools, who came to scoff, remained to pray. Prior compares the
opening lines of Dryden's Britannia Rediviva:

Our vows are heard betimes, and heaven takes care To grant, before we
can conclude the prayer; Preventing angels met it half the way, And sent
us back to praise, who came to pray.

As some tall cliff, etc. Lucan, Statius, and Claudian have been supposed
to have helped Goldsmith to this fine and deservedly popular simile.
But, considering his obvious familiarity with French literature, and the
rarity of his 'obligations to the ancients,' it is not unlikely that,
as suggested by a writer in the Academy for Oct. 30, 1886, his source of
suggestion is to be found in the following passage of an Ode addressed
by Chapelain (1595-1674) to Richelieu:

Dans un paisible mouvement Tu t'élèves au firmament, Et laisses contre
toi murmurer cette terre; Ainsi le haut Olympe, à son pied sablonneux,
Laisse fumer la foudre et gronder le tonnerre, Et garde son sommet
tranquille et lumineux.

Or another French modelindicated by Mr. Forster (Life, 1871, ii.
115-16) by the late Lord Lyttonmay have been these lines from a poem by
the Abbé de Chaulieu (1639-1720):

Au milieu cependant de ces peines cruelles De notre triste hiver,
compagnes trop fidèles, Je suis tranquille et gai. Quel bien plus
précieux Puis-je espérer jamais de la bonté des dieux!

page 186



Tel qu'un rocher dont la tête, Égalant le Mont Athos, Voit à ses pieds
la tempête Troubler le calme des flots, La mer autour bruit et gronde;
Malgré ses emotions, Sur son front élevé règne une paix profonde, Que
tant d'agitations Et que ses fureurs de l'onde Respectent à l'égal du
nid des alcyons.

On the other hand, Goldsmith may have gone no further than Young's
Complaint: Night the Second, 1742, p. 42, where, as Mitford points out,
occur these lines:

As some tall Tow'r, or lofty Mountain's Brow, Detains the Sun,
Illustrious from its Height, While rising Vapours, and descending
Shades, With Damps, and Darkness drown the Spatious Vale: Undampt by
Doubt, Undarken'd by Despair, Philander, thus, augustly rears his Head.

Prior also (Life, 1837, ii. 252) prints a passage from Animated Nature,
1774, i. 145, derived from Ulloa, which perhaps served as the raw
material of the simile.

Full well they laugh'd, etc. Steele, in Spectator, No. 49 (for April 26,
1711) has a somewhat similar thought:'Eubulus has so great an Authority
in his little Diurnal Audience, that when he shakes his Head at any
Piece of publick News, they all of them appear dejected; and, on the
contrary, go home to their Dinners with a good Stomach and chearful
Aspect, when Eubulus seems to intimate that Things go well.'

Yet he was kind, etc. For the rhyme of 'fault' and 'aught' in this
couplet Prior cites the precedent of Pope:

Before his sacred name flies ev'ry fault, And each exalted stanza teems
with thought!

(Essay on Criticism, l. 422). He might also have cited Waller, who
elides the 'l':

Were we but less indulgent to our fau'ts, And patience had to cultivate
our thoughts.

page 187



Goldsmith uses a like rhyme in Edwin and Angelina, Stanza xxxv:

But mine the sorrow, mine the fault, And well my life shall pay; I'll
seek the solitude he sought, And stretch me where he lay.

Cf. also Retaliation, ll. 73-4. Perhapsas indeed Prior suggestshe
pronounced 'fault' in this fashion.

The School House

THE SCHOOL HOUSE (R. H. Newell)

That one small head could carry all he knew. Some of the traits of
this portrait are said to be borrowed from Goldsmith's own master at
Lissoy:'He was instructed in reading, writing, and arithmetic'says
his sister Catherine, Mrs. Hodson'by a schoolmaster in his father's
village, who had been a quartermaster in the army in Queen Anne's wars,
in that detachment which was sent to Spain: having travelled over a
considerable part of Europe and being of a very romantic turn, he used
to entertain Oliver with his adventures; and the impressions these
made on his scholar were believed by the family to have given him that
wandering and unsettled turn which so much appeared in his future life.'
(Percy Memoir, 1801, pp. 3-4.) The name of this worthy, according to
Strean, was Burn (Byrne). (Mangin's Essay on Light Reading, 1808, p.
142.)

Near yonder thorn. See note to l. 13.

The chest contriv'd a double debt to pay. Cf. the Description of an
Author's Bedchamber, p. 48, l. ult.:

A cap by nighta stocking all the day!

The twelve good rules. 'A constant one' (i.e. picture) 'in every house
was "King Charles' Twelve Good Rules."' (Bewick's Memoir, 'Memorial
Edition,' 1887, p. 262.) This old broadside, surmounted by a rude
woodcut of the King's execution, is still prized by collectors. The
rules, as 'found in the study of King Charles the First, of Blessed
Memory,' are as follow: '1. Urge no healths; 2. Profane no divine
ordinances; 3. Touch no state matters; 4. Reveal no secrets; 5. Pick no
quarrels; 6. Make no comparisons; 7. Maintain no ill opinions; 8. Keep
no bad company; 9. Encourage no vice; 10. Make no long meals; 11. Repeat
no grievances; 12. Lay no Wagers.' Prior, Misc. Works, 1837, iv. 63,
points out that Crabbe also

page 188



makes the 'Twelve Good Rules' conspicuous in the Parish Register (ll.
51-2):

There is King Charles, and all his Golden Rules, Who proved Misfortune's
was the best of schools.

Her late Majesty, Queen Victoria, kept a copy of these rules in the
servants' hall at Windsor Castle.

the royal game of goose. The 'Royal and Entertaining Game of the Goose'
is described at length in Strutt's Sports and Pastimes, bk. iv, ch.
2 (xxv). It may be briefly defined as a game of compartments with
different titles through which the player progresses according to the
numbers he throws with the dice. At every fourth or fifth compartment is
depicted a goose, and if the player's cast falls upon one of these, he
moves forward double the number of his throw.

While broken tea-cups. Cf. the Description of an Author's Bedchamber, p.
48, l. 18:

And five crack'd teacups dress'd the chimney board.

Mr. Hogan, who repaired or rebuilt the ale-house at Lissoy, did not
forget, besides restoring the 'Royal Game of Goose' and the 'Twelve Good
Rules,' to add the broken teacups, 'which for better security in the
frail tenure of an Irish publican, or the doubtful decorum of his
guests, were embedded in the mortar.' (Prior, Life, 1837, ii. 265.)

Shall kiss the cup. Cf. Scott's Lochinvar:

The bride kissed the goblet: the knight took it up, He quaff'd off the
wine and he threw down the cup.

Cf. also The History of Miss Stanton (British Magazine, July,
1760).'The earthen mug went round. Miss touched the cup, the stranger
pledged the parson,' etc.

Between a splendid and a happy land. Prior compares The Citizen of the
World, 1762, i. 98:'Too much commerce may injure a nation as well as
too little; and . . . there is a wide difference between a conquering
and a flourishing empire.'

To see profusion that he must not share. Cf. Animated Nature, iv. p.
43:'He only guards those luxuries he is not fated to share.' [Mitford.]

page 189



To see those joys. Up to the third edition the words were each joy.

There the black gibbet glooms beside the way. The gallows, under the
savage penal laws of the eighteenth century, by which horse- stealing,
forgery, shop-lifting, and even the cutting of a hop-bind in a
plantation were punishable with death, was a common object in the
landscape. Cf. Vicar of Wakefield, 1706, ii. 122:'Our possessions are
paled up with new edicts every day, and hung round with gibbets to scare
every invader'; and Citizen of the World, 1762, ii. 63-7. Johnson, who
wrote eloquently on capital punishment in The Rambler for April 20,
1751, No. 114, also refers to the ceaseless executions in his London,
1738, ll. 238-43:

Scarce can our fields, such crowds at Tyburn die, With hemp the gallows
and the fleet supply. Propose your schemes, ye senatorian band, Whose
ways and means support the sinking land: Lest ropes be wanting in the
tempting spring, To rig another convoy for the king.

Where the poor houseless shivering female lies. Mitford compares Letter
cxiv of The Citizen of the World, 1762, ii. 211:'These poor shivering
females have once seen happier days, and been flattered into beauty.
They have been prostituted to the gay luxurious villain, and are now
turned out to meet the severity of winter. Perhaps now lying at
the doors of their betrayers, they sue to wretches whose hearts are
insensible, or debauchees who may curse, but will not relieve them.' The
same passage occurs in The Bee, 1759, p. 126 (A City Night- Piece).

Near her betrayer's door, etc. Cf. the foregoing quotation.

wild Altama, i.e. the Alatamaha, a river in Georgia, North America.
Goldsmith may have been familiar with this name in connexion with his
friend Oglethorpe's expedition of 1733.

crouching tigers, a poetical licence, as there are no tigers in the
locality named. But Mr. J. H. Lobban calls attention to a passage from
Animated Nature [1774, iii. 244], in which Goldsmith seems to defend
himself:'There is an animal of

page 190



America, which is usually called the Red Tiger, but Mr. Buffon calls
it the Cougar, which, no doubt, is very different from the tiger of the
east. Some, however, have thought proper to rank both together, and I
will take leave to follow their example.'

The good old sire. Cf. Threnodia Augustalis, ll. 16-17:

The good old sire, unconscious of decay, The modest matron, clad in
homespun gray

a father's. 'Her father's' in the first edition.

silent. 'Decent' in the first edition.

On Torno's cliffs, or Pambamarca's side. 'Torno'=Tornea, a river which
falls into the Gulf of Bothnia; Pambamarca is a mountain near Quito,
South America. 'The author'says Bolton Corney'bears in memory the
operations of the French philosophers in the arctic and equatorial
regions, as described in the celebrated narratives of M. Maupertuis and
Don Antonio de Ulloa.'

That trade's proud empire, etc. These last four lines are attributed
to Johnson on Boswell's authority:'Dr. Johnson . . . favoured me by
marking the lines which he furnished to Goldsmith's Deserted Village,
which are only the 'last four'.' (Birkbeck Hill's Boswell, 1887, ii. 7.)


PROLOGUE OF LABERIUS.

This translation, or rather imitation, was first published at pp. 176-7
of An Enquiry into the Present State of Polite Learning in Europe,
1759 (Chap. xii, 'Of the Stage'), where it is prefaced as follows:
'MACROBIUS has preserved a prologue, spoken and written by the poet
[Decimus] Laberius, a Roman knight, whom Caesar forced upon the stage,
written with great elegance and spirit, which shews what opinion the
Romans in general entertained of the profession of an actor.' In the
second edition of 1774 the prologue was omitted. The original lines, one
of which Goldsmith quotes, are to found in the Saturnalia of Macrobius,
lib. ii, cap. vii (Opera, London, 1694). He seems to have confined
himself to imitating the first fifteen:

Necessitas, cujus cursus transversi impetum Voluerunt multi effugere,
pauci potuerunt,

page 191



Quo me detrusit paene extremis sensibus? Quem nulla ambitio, nulla
umquam largitio, Nullus timor, vis nulla, nulla auctoritas Movere potuit
in juventa de statu; Ecce in senecta ut facile labefecit loco Viri
Excellentis mente clemente edita Submissa placide blandiloquens oratio!
Etenim ipsi di negare cui nihil potuerunt, Hominem me denegare quis
posset pati? Ergo bis tricenis annis actis sine tota Eques Romanus Lare
egressus meo Domum revertar mimus. nimirum hoc die Uno plus vixi mihi
quam vivendum fuit.

Rollin gives a French translation of this prologue in his Traité des
Études. It is quoted by Bolton Corney in his Poetical Works of Oliver
Goldsmith, 1845, pp. 203-4. In his Aldine edition of 1831, p. 114,
Mitford completed Goldsmith's version as follows:

Too lavish still in good, or evil hour, To show to man the empire of thy
power, If fortune, at thy wild impetuous sway, The blossoms of my fame
must drop away, Then was the time the obedient plant to strain When life
was warm in every vigorous vein, To mould young nature to thy plastic
skill, And bend my pliant boyhood to thy will. So might I hope
applauding crowds to hear, Catch the quick smile, and HIS attentive ear.
But ah! for what has thou reserv'd my age? Say, how can I expect the
approving stage; Fled is the bloom of youththe manly air The vigorous
mind that spurn'd at toil and care; Gone is the voice, whose clear and
silver tone The enraptur'd theatre would love to own. As clasping ivy
chokes the encumber'd tree, So age with foul embrace has ruined me.
Thou, and the tomb, Laberius, art the same, Empty within, what hast thou
but a name?

page 192



Macrobius, it may be remembered, was the author, with a quotation from
whom Johnson, after a long silence, electrified the company upon his
first arrival at Pembroke College, thus giving (says Boswell) 'the
first impression of that more extensive reading in which he had indulged
himself' (Birkbeck Hill's Boswell, 1887, i. 59). If the study of
Macrobius is to be regarded as a test of 'more extensive reading' that
praise must therefore be accorded to Goldsmith, who cites him in his
first book.


ON A BEAUTIFUL YOUTH STRUCK BLIND WITH LIGHTNING.

This quatrain, the original of which does not appear to have been
traced, was first published in The Bee for Saturday, the 6th of October,
1759, p. 8. It is there succeeded by the following Latin epigram, 'in
the same spirit':

LUMINE Acon dextro capta est Leonida sinistro Et poterat forma vincere
uterque Deos. Parve puer lumen quod habes concede puellae Sic tu caecus
amor sic erit illa Venus.

There are several variations of this in the Gentleman's Magazine for
1745, pp. 104, 159, 213, 327, one of which is said to be 'By a monk of
Winchester,' with a reference to 'Cambden's Remains, p. 413.' None of
these corresponds exactly with Goldsmith's text; and the lady's name is
uniformly given as 'Leonilla.' A writer in the Quarterly Review, vol.
171, p. 296, prints the 'original' thus

Lumine Acon dextro, capta est Leonilla sinistro, Et potis est forma
vincere uterque Deos. Blande puer, lumen quod habes concede sorori; Sic
tu caecus Amor, sic erit illa Venus;

and says 'it was written by Girolamo Amalteo, and will be found in any
of the editions of the Trium Fratrum Amaltheorum Carmina, under the
title of 'De gemellis, fratre et sorore, luscis.' According to Byron
on Bowles (Works, 1836, vi. p. 390), the persons referred to are the
Princess of Eboli, mistress of Philip II of Spain, and Maugiron, minion
of Henry III of France, who had each of them lost an eye. But for this
the reviewer above quoted had found no authority.

page 193



THE GIFT.

This little trifle, in which a French levity is wedded to the language
of Prior, was first printed in The Bee, for Saturday, the 13th of
October, 1759. Its original, which is as follows, is to be found where
Goldsmith found it, namely in Part iii of the Ménagiana, (ed. 1729, iii,
397), and not far from the ditty of le fameux la Galisse. (See An Elegy
on Mrs. Mary Blaize, infra, p. 198):

ETRENE A IRIS.

Pour témoigner de ma flame, Iris, du meilleur de mon ame Je vous donne
à ce nouvel an Non pas dentelle ni ruban, Non pas essence, ni pommade,
Quelques boites de marmelade, Un manchon, des gans, un bouquet, Non pas
heures, ni chapelet. Quoi donc? Attendez, je vous donne O fille plus
belle que bonne ... Je vous donne: Ah! le puis-je dire? Oui, c'est trop
souffrir le martyre, Il est tems de s'émanciper, Patience va m'échaper,
Fussiez-vous cent fois plus aimable, Belle Iris, je vous donne ... au
Diable.

In Bolton Corney's edition of Goldsmith's Poetical Works, 1845, p. 77,
note, these lines are attributed to Bernard de la Monnoye (1641- 1728),
who is said to have included them in a collection of Étrennes en vers,
published in 1715.

I'll give thee. See an anecdote à propos of this anticlimax in
Trevelyan's Life and Letters of Lord Macaulay, ed. 1889, p. 600:'There
was much laughing about Mrs. Beecher Stowe [then (16th March, 1853)
expected in England], and what we were to give her. I referred the
ladies to Goldsmith's poems for what I should give. Nobody but Hannah
understood me; but some of them have since been thumbing Goldsmith to
make out the riddle.'

page 194



THE LOGICIANS REFUTED.

These lines, which have often, and even of late years, been included
among Swift's works, were first printed as Goldsmith's by T. Evans
at vol. i. pp. 115-17 of The Poetical and Dramatic Works of Oliver
Goldsmith, M.B., 1780. They originally appeared in The Busy Body for
Thursday, October the 18th, 1759 (No. v), having this notification above
the title: 'The following Poem written by DR. SWIFT, is communicated to
the Public by the BUSY BODY, to whom it was presented by a Nobleman
of distinguished Learning and Taste.' In No. ii they had already been
advertised as forthcoming. The sub-title, 'In imitation of Dean Swift,'
seems to have been added by Evans. The text here followed is that of the
first issue.

Wise Aristotle and Smiglecius. Cf. The Life of Parnell, 1770, p.
3:'His imagination might have been too warm to relish the cold logic of
Burgersdicius, or the dreary subtleties of Smiglesius; but it is certain
that as a classical scholar, few could equal him.' Martin Smiglesius or
Smigletius, a Polish Jesuit, theologian and logician, who died in
1618, appears to have been a special bête noire to Goldsmith; and
the reference to him here would support the ascription of the poem to
Goldsmith's pen, were it not that Swift seems also to have cherished
a like antipathy:'He told me that he had made many efforts, upon his
entering the College [i.e. Trinity College, Dublin], to read some of the
old treatises on logic writ by Smeglesius, Keckermannus, Burgersdicius,
etc., and that he never had patience to go through three pages of any
of them, he was so disgusted at the stupidity of the work.' (Sheridan's
Life of Swift, 2nd ed., 1787, p. 4.)

Than reason- boasting mortal's pride. So in The Busy Body. Some
editorsMitford, for exampleprint the line:

Than reason,boasting mortals' pride.

Deus est anima brutorum. Cf. Addison in Spectator, No. 121 (July 19,
1711): 'A modern Philosopher, quoted by Monsieur Bale in his Learned
Dissertation on the Souls of Brutes delivers the same Opinion [i.e.That
Instinct is the immediate direction of Providence], tho' in a bolder
form of words where he says Deus est Anima Brutorum, God himself is the
Soul of

page 195



Brutes.' There is much in 'Monsieur Bayle' on this theme. Probably
Addison had in mind the following passage of the Dict. Hist. et Critique
(3rd ed., 1720, 2481b.) which Bayle cites from M. Bernard:'Il me
semble d'avoir lu quelque part cette Thèse, Deus est anima brutorum:
l'expression est un peu dure; mais elle peut recevoir un fort bon sens.'

Bb=Bob, i.e. Sir Robert Walpole, the Prime Minister, for whom many
venal 'quills were drawn' circa 1715- 42. Cf. Pope's Epilogue to the
Satires, 1738, Dialogue i, ll. 27- 32:

Go see Sir ROBERT P. See Sir ROBERT!hum And never laughfor all
my life to come? Seen him I have, but in his happier hour Of Social
Pleasure, ill-exchang'd for Pow'r; Seen him, uncumber'd with the Venal
tribe, Smile without Art, and win without a Bribe.

A courtier any ape surpasses. Cf. Gay's Fables, passim. Indeed there is
more of Gay than Swift in this and the lines that follow. Gay's life
was wasted in fruitless expectations of court patronage, and his
disappointment often betrays itself in his writings.

And footmen, lords and dukes can act. Cf. Gil Blas, 1715-35, liv. iii,
chap. iv:'Il falloit voir comme nous nous portions des santés à tous
moments, en nous donnant les uns aux autres les surnoms de nos maîtres.
Le valet de don Antonio appeloit Gamb celuiet nous nous enivrions peu à
peu sous ces noms empruntés, tout aussi bien que les seigneurs qui les
portoient véritablement.' But Steele had already touched this subject in
Spectator, No. 88, for June 11, 1711, 'On the Misbehaviour of Servants,'
a paper supposed to have afforded the hint for Townley's farce of High
Life below Stairs, which, about a fortnight after The Logicians Refuted
appeared, was played for the first time at Drury Lane, not much to
the gratification of the gentlemen's gentlemen in the upper gallery.
Goldsmith himself wrote 'A Word or two on the late Farce, called High
Life below Stairs,' in The Bee for November 3, 1759, pp. 154- 7.

page 196



A SONNET.

This little piece first appears in The Bee for October 20, 1759 (No.
iii). It is there called 'A Sonnet,' a title which is only accurate
in so far as it is 'a little song.' Bolton Corney affirms that it
is imitated from the French of Saint-Pavin (i.e. Denis Sanguin de
Saint-Pavin, d. 1670), whose works were edited in 1759, the year in
which Goldsmith published the collection of essays and verses in which
it is to be found. The text here followed is that of the 'new edition'
of The Bee, published by W. Lane, Leadenhall Street, no date, p. 94.
Neither by its motive nor its literary meritsit should be addeddid the
original call urgently for translation; and the poem is here included
solely because, being Goldsmith's, it cannot be omitted from his
complete works.

This and the following line in the first version run:

Yet, why this killing soft dejection? Why dim thy beauty with a tear?


STANZAS ON THE TAKING OF QUEBEC.

Quebec was taken on the 13th September, 1759. Wolfe was wounded pretty
early in the action, while leading the advance of the Louisbourg
grenadiers. 'A shot shattered his wrist. He wrapped his handkerchief
about it and kept on. Another shot struck him, and he still advanced,
when a third lodged in his breast. He staggered, and sat on the ground.
Lieutenant Brown, of the grenadiers, one Henderson, a volunteer in the
same company, and a private soldier, aided by an officer of artillery
who ran to join them, carried him in their arms to the rear. He begged
them to lay him down. They did so, and asked if he would have a surgeon.
"There's no need," he answered; "it's all over with me." A moment after,
one of them cried out, "They run; see how they run!" "Who run?" Wolfe
demanded, like a man roused from sleep. "The enemy, sir. They give way
everywhere!" "Go, one of you, to Colonel Burton," returned the dying
man; "tell him to march Webb's regiment down to Charles River, to cut
off their retreat from the bridge." Then, turning on his side, he

page 197



murmured, "Now, God be praised, I will die in peace!" and in a few
moments his gallant soul had fled.' (Parkman's Montcalm and Wolfe, 1885,
ii. 296-7.) In his History of England in a Series of Letters, 1764, ii.
241, Goldsmith says of this event:'Perhaps the loss of such a man
was greater to the nation than the conquering of all Canada was
advantageous; but it is the misfortune of humanity, that we can never
know true greatness till the moment when we are going to lose it.'*
The present stanzas were first published in The Busy Body (No. vii) for
Tuesday, the 22nd October, 1759, a week after the news of Wolfe's death
had reached this country (Tuesday the 16th). According to Prior (Life,
1837, i. 6), Goldsmith claimed to be related to Wolfe by the father's
side, the maiden name of the General's mother being Henrietta Goldsmith.
It may be noted that Benjamin West's popular rendering of Wolfe's death
(1771)a rendering which Nelson never passed in a print shop without
being stopped by itwas said to be based upon the descriptions of an
eye- witness. It was engraved by Woollett and Ryland in 1776. A key to
the names of those appearing in the picture was published in the Army
and Navy Gazette of January 20, 1893.


AN ELEGY ON MRS. MARY BLAIZE.

The publication in February, 1751, of Gray's Elegy Wrote in a Country
Church Yard had set a fashion in poetry which long continued. Goldsmith,
who considered that work 'a very fine poem, but overloaded with epithet'
(Beauties of English Poesy, 1767, i. 53), and once proposed to amend
it 'by leaving out an idle word in every line' [!] (Cradock's Memoirs,
1826, i. 230), resented these endless imitations, and his antipathy to
them frequently reveals itself. Only a few months before the appearance
of Mrs. Blaize in The Bee for October 27, 1759, he had written in the
Critical Review, vii. 263, when noticing Langhorne's Death of Adonis,
as follows:'It is not thus that many of our moderns have composed what
they call elegies; they seem scarcely to have known its real character.
If an hero or a poet

*He repeats this sentiment, in different words, in the later History of
England of 1771, iv. 400.

page 198



happens to die with us, the whole band of elegiac poets raise the dismal
chorus, adorn his herse with all the paltry escutcheons of flattery,
rise into bombast, paint him at the head of his thundering legions, or
reining Pegasus in his most rapid career; they are sure to strew cypress
enough upon the bier, dress up all the muses in mourning, and look
themselves every whit as dismal and sorrowful as an undertaker's shop.'
He returned to the subject in a Chinese Letter of March 4, 1761, in the
Public Ledger (afterwards Letter ciii of The Citizen of the World,
1762, ii. 162-5), which contains the lines On the Death of the Right
Honourable ***; and again, in The Vicar of Wakefield, 1766, i. 174, à
propos of the Elegy on the Death of a Mad Dog, he makes Dr. Primrose
say, 'I have wept so much at all sorts of elegies of late, that without
an enlivening glass I am sure this will overcome me.'

The model for An Elegy on Mrs. Mary Blaize is to be found in the old
French popular song of Monsieur de la Palisse or Palice, about fifty
verses of which are printed in Larousse's Grand Dictionnaire Universel
du XIX me Siècle, x. p. 179. It is there stated to have originated in
some dozen stanzas suggested to la Monnoye (v. supra, p. 193) by the
extreme artlessness of a military quatrain dating from the battle of
Pavia, and the death upon that occasion of the famous French captain,
Jacques de Chabannes, seigneur de la Palice:

Monsieur d'La Palice est mort, Mort devant Pavie; Un quart d'heure avant
sa mort, Il était encore en vie.

The remaining verses, i.e. in addition to those of la Monnoye, are the
contributions of successive generations. Goldsmith probably had in mind
the version in Part iii of the Ménagiana, (ed. 1729, iii, 384-391) where
apparently by a typographical error, the hero is called 'le fameux la
Galisse, homme imaginaire.' The verses he imitated most closely are
reproduced below. It may be added that this poem supplied one of its
last inspirations to the pencil of Randolph Caldecott, who published it
as a picture-book in October, 1885. (See also An Elegy on the Death of a
Mad Dog, p. 212.)

page 199



Who left a pledge behind. Caldecott cleverly converted this line into
the keynote of the poem, by making the heroine a pawnbroker.

When she has walk'd before. Cf. the French:

On dit que dans ses amours Il fut caresse des belles, Qui le suivirent
toujours, Tant qu'il marcha devant elles.

Her last disorder mortal. Cf. the French:

Il fut par un triste sort Blesse d'une main cruelle. On croit, puis
qu'il en est mort, Que la plaie étoit mortelle.

Kent Street, Southwark, 'chiefly inhabited,' said Strype, 'by Broom Men
and Mumpers'; and Evelyn tells us (Diary 5th December, 1683) that he
assisted at the marriage, to her fifth husband, of a Mrs. Castle, who
was 'the daughter of one Burton, a broom-man . . . in Kent Street'
who had become not only rich, but Sheriff of Surrey. It was a poor
neighbourhood corresponding to the present 'old Kent-road, from Kent
to Southwark and old London Bridge' (Cunningham's London).* Goldsmith
himself refers to it in The Bee for October 20, 1759, being the number
immediately preceding that in which Madam Blaize first appeared:'You
then, O ye beggars of my acquaintance, whether in rags or lace; whether
in Kent- street or the Mall; whether at the Smyrna or St. Giles's,
might I advise as a friend, never seem in want of the favour which you
solicit' (p. 72). Three years earlier he had practised as 'a physician,
in a humble way' in Bankside, Southwark, and was probably well
acquainted with the humours of Kent Street.


DESCRIPTION OF AN AUTHOR'S BEDCHAMBER.

In a letter written to the Rev. Henry Goldsmith in 1759 (Percy Memoir,
1801, pp. 53-9), Goldsmith thus refers to the first form of these
verses:'Your last letter, I repeat it, was

*In contemporary maps Kent (now Tabard) Street is shown extending
between the present New Kent Road and Blackman Street.

page 200



too short; you should have given me your opinion of the design of the
heroicomical poem which I sent you: you remember I intended to introduce
the hero of the poem, as lying in a paltry alehouse. You may take
the following specimen of the manner, which I flatter myself is quite
original. The room in which he lies, may be described somewhat this
way:

The window, patch'd with paper, lent a ray, That feebly shew'd the state
in which he lay. The sanded floor, that grits beneath the tread: The
humid wall with paltry pictures spread; The game of goose was there
expos'd to view And the twelve rules the royal martyr drew: The seasons,
fram'd with listing, found a place, And Prussia's monarch shew'd his
lamp-black face The morn was cold; he views with keen desire, A rusty
grate unconscious of a fire. An unpaid reck'ning on the frieze was
scor'd, And five crack'd tea-cups dress'd the chimney board.

And now imagine after his soliloquy, the landlord to make his
appearance, in order to dun him for the reckoning:

Not with that face, so servile and so gay, That welcomes every stranger
that can pay, With sulky eye he smoak'd the patient man, Then pull'd his
breeches tight, and thus began, etc.

All this is taken, you see, from nature. It is a good remark of
Montaign[e]'s, that the wisest men often have friends, with whom they
do not care how much they play the fool. Take my present follies as
instances of regard. Poetry is a much easier, and more agreeable species
of composition than prose, and could a man live by it, it were no
unpleasant employment to be a poet.'

In Letter xxix of The Citizen of the World, 1762, i. 119-22, which first
appeared in The Public Ledger for May 2, 1760, they have a different
setting. They are read at a club of authors by a 'poet, in shabby
finery,' who asserts that he has composed them the day before. After
some preliminary difficulties, arising from the fact that the laws of
the club do not permit any author to inflict his own works upon the
assembly without a money payment, he introduces them as follows:

page 201



'Gentlemen, says he, the present piece is not one of your common epic
poems, which come from the press like paper kites in summer; there are
none of your Turnuses or Dido's in it; it is an heroical description
of nature. I only beg you'll endeavour to make your souls unison* with
mine, and hear with the same enthusiasm with which I have written. The
poem begins with the description of an author's bedchamber: the picture
was sketched in my own apartment; for you must know, gentlemen, that
I am myself the heroe. Then putting himself into the attitude of an
orator, with all the emphasis of voice and action, he proceeded.

Where the Red Lion, etc.'

The verses then follow as they are printed in this volume; but he
is unable to induce his audience to submit to a further sample. In a
slightly different form, some of them were afterwards worked into The
Deserted Village, 1770. (See ll. 227-36.)

Where Calvert's butt, and Parsons' black champagne. The Calverts and
Humphrey Parsons were noted brewers of 'entire butt beer' or porter,
also known familiarly as 'British Burgundy' and 'black Champagne.'
Calvert's 'Best Butt Beer' figures on the sign in Hogarth's Beer Street,
1751.

The humid wall with paltry pictures spread. Bewick gives the names of
some of these popular, if paltry, decorations:'In cottages everywhere
were to be seen the "Sailor's Farewell" and his "Happy Return,"
"Youthful Sports," and the "Feats of Manhood," "The Bold Archers
Shooting at a Mark," "The Four Seasons," etc.' (Memoir, 'Memorial
Edition,' 1887, p. 263.)

The royal game of goose was there in view. (See note, p. 188.)

And the twelve rules the royal martyr drew. (See note, p. 187.)

The Seasons, fram'd with listing. See note to l. 10 above, as to 'The
Seasons.' Listing, ribbon, braid, or tape is still used as a primitive
encadrement. In a letter dated August 15, 1758, to his cousin, Mrs.
Lawder (Jane Contarine), Goldsmith again refers to this device. Speaking
of some 'maxims of frugality' with which he intends to adorn his room,
he adds

*i.e. accord, conform.

page 202



'my landlady's daughter shall frame them with the parings of my black
waistcoat.' (Prior, Life, 1837, i. 271.)

And brave Prince William. William Augustus, Duke of Cumberland, 1721-65.
The 'lamp- black face' would seem to imply that the portrait was a
silhouette. In the letter quoted on p. 200 it is 'Prussia's monarch'
(i.e. Frederick the Great).

With beer and milk arrears. See the lines relative to the landlord in
Goldsmith's above-quoted letter to his brother. In another letter of
August 14, 1758, to Robert Bryanton, he describes himself as 'in a
garret writing for bread, and expecting to be dunned for a milk score.'
Hogarth's Distrest Poet, 1736, it will be remembered, has already
realized this expectation.

A cap by nighta stocking all the day. 'With this last line,' says The
Citizen of the World, 1762, i. 121, 'he [the author] seemed so much
elated, that he was unable to proceed: "There gentlemen, cries he, there
is a description for you; Rab[e]lais's bed- chamber is but a fool to it:

A cap by nighta stocking all the day!

There is sound and sense, and truth, and nature in the trifling compass
of ten little syllables."' (Letter xxix.) Cf. also The Deserted Village,
l. 230:

A bed by night, a chest of drawers by day.

If Goldsmith's lines did not belong to 1759, one might suppose he had
in mind the later Pauvre Diable of his favourite Voltaire. (See also
APPENDIX B.)


ON SEEING MRS. ** PERFORM IN THE CHARACTER OF ****.

These verses, intended for a specimen of the newspaper Muse, are from
Letter lxxxii of The Citizen of the World, 1762, ii. 87, first printed
in The Public Ledger, October 21, 1760.


ON THE DEATH OF THE RIGHT HON. ***

From Letter ciii of The Citizen of the World, 1762, ii. 164, first
printed in The Public Ledger, March 4, 1761. The verses are

page 203



given as a 'specimen of a poem on the decease of a great man.' Goldsmith
had already used the trick of the final line of the quatrain in An Elegy
on Mrs. Mary Blaize, ante, p. 198.


AN EPIGRAM.

From Letter cx of The Citizen of the World, 1762, ii. 193, first printed
in The Public Ledger, April 14, 1761. It had, however, already been
printed in the 'Ledger', ten days before. Goldsmith's animosity to
Churchill (cf. note to l. 41 of the dedication to The Traveller) was
notorious; but this is one of his doubtful pieces.

virtue. 'Charity' (Author's note).

bounty. 'Settled at One Shillingthe Price of the Poem' (Author's note).


TO G. C. AND R. L.

From the same letter as the preceding. George Colman and Robert Lloyd of
the St. James's Magazine were supposed to have helped Churchill in The
Rosciad, the 'it' of the epigram.


TRANSLATION OF A SOUTH AMERICAN ODE.

From Letter cxiii of The Citizen of the World, 1762, ii. 209, first
printed in The Public Ledger, May 13, 1761.


THE DOUBLE TRANSFORMATION.

The Double Transformation first appeared in Essays: By Mr. Goldsmith,
1765, where it figures as Essay xxvi, occupying pp. 229-33. It was
revised for the second edition of 1766, becoming Essay xxviii, pp.
241-45. This is the text here followed. The poem is an obvious imitation
of what its author calls (Letters from a Nobleman to his Son, 1764, ii.
140) that 'French elegant easy manner of telling a story,' which Prior
had caught from La Fontaine. But the inherent simplicity of Goldsmith's
style is

page 204



curiously evidenced by the absence of those illustrations and ingenious
allusions which are Prior's chief characteristic. And although Goldsmith
included The Ladle and Hans Carvel in his Beauties of English Poesy,
1767, he refrained wisely from copying the licence of his model.

Jack Book-worm led a college life. The version of 1765 reads 'liv'd' for
'led'.

And freshmen wonder'd as he spoke. The earlier version adds here

Without politeness aim'd at breeding, And laugh'd at pedantry and
reading.

Her presence banish'd all his peace. Here in the first version the
paragraph closes, and a fresh one is commenced as follows:

Our alter'd Parson now began To be a perfect ladies' man; Made sonnets,
lisp'd his sermons o'er, And told the tales he told before, Of bailiffs
pump'd, and proctors bit, At college how he shew'd his wit; And, as the
fair one still approv'd, He fell in loveor thought he lov'd. So with
decorum, etc.

The fifth line was probably a reminiscence of the college riot in which
Goldsmith was involved in May, 1747, and for his part in which he was
publicly admonished. (See Introduction, p. xi, l. 3.)

usage. This word, perhaps by a printer's error, is 'visage' in the first
version.

Skill'd in no other arts was she. Cf. Prior:

For in all Visits who but She, To Argue, or to Repartee.

Five greasy nightcaps wrapp'd her head. Cf. Spectator, No. 494 'At
length the Head of the Colledge came out to him, from an inner Room,
with half a Dozen Night-Caps upon his Head.' See also Goldsmith's essay
on the Coronation (Essays, 1766, p. 238), where Mr. Grogan speaks of his
wife as habitually

page 205



'mobbed up in flannel night caps, and trembling at a breath of air.'

By day, 'twas gadding or coquetting. The first version after
'coquetting' begins a fresh paragraph with

Now tawdry madam kept, etc.

A sigh in suffocating smoke. Here in the first version follows:

She, in her turn, became perplexing, And found substantial bliss in
vexing. Thus every hour was pass'd, etc.

Thus as her faults each day were known. First version: 'Each day, the
more her faults,' etc.

Now, to perplex. The first version has 'Thus.' But the alteration in
line 61 made a change necessary.

paste. First version 'pastes.'

condemn'd to hack, i.e. to hackney, to plod.


A NEW SIMILE.

The New Simile first appears in Essays: By Mr. Goldsmith, 1765, pp.
234-6, where it forms Essay xxvii. In the second edition of 1766 it
occupies pp. 246- 8 and forms Essay xix. The text here followed is that
of the second edition, which varies slightly from the first. In both
cases the poem is followed by the enigmatical initials '*J. B.,' which,
however, as suggested by Gibbs, may simply stand for 'Jack Bookworm' of
The Double Transformation. (See p. 204.)

Long had I sought in vain to find. The text of 1765 reads

'I long had rack'd my brains to find.'

Tooke's Pantheon. Andrew Tooke (1673-1732) was first usher and then
Master at the Charterhouse. In the latter capacity he succeeded Thomas
Walker, the master of Addison and Steele. His Pantheon, a revised
translation from the Latin of the Jesuit, Francis Pomey, was a popular
school-book of mythology, with copper-plates.

Wings upon either sidemark that. The petasus of Mercury, like his
sandals (l. 24), is winged.

No poppy-water half so good. Poppy-water, made by

page 206



boiling the heads of the white, black, or red poppy, was a favourite
eighteenth- century soporific:'Juno shall give her peacock poppy-
water, that he may fold his ogling tail.' (Congreve's Love for Love,
1695, iv. 3.)

With this he drives men's souls to hell.

Tu.... ....virgaque levem coerces Aurea turbam.Hor. Od. i. 10.

Moreover, Merc'ry had a failing.

Te canam.... Callidum, quidquid placuit, iocoso Condere furto.Hor. Od.
i. 10.

Goldsmith, it will be observed, rhymes 'failing' and 'stealing.' But
Pope does much the same:

That Jelly's rich, this Malmsey healing, Pray dip your Whiskers and your
tail in. (Imitation of Horace, Bk. ii, Sat. vi.)

Unless this is to be explained by poetical licence, one of these
words must have been pronounced in the eighteenth century as it is not
pronounced now.

In which all modern bards agree. The text of 1765 reads 'our scribling
bards.'


EDWIN AND ANGELINA.

This ballad, usually known as The Hermit, was written in or before 1765,
and printed privately in that year 'for the amusement of the Countess of
Northumberland,' whose acquaintance Goldsmith had recently made through
Mr. Nugent. (See the prefatory note to The Haunch of Venison.) Its
title was 'Edwin and Angelina. A Ballad. By Mr. Goldsmith.' It was first
published in The Vicar of Wakefield, 1766, where it appears at pp. 70-7,
vol. i. In July, 1767, Goldsmith was accused [by Dr. Kenrick] in the St.
James's Chronicle of having taken it from Percy's Friar of Orders Gray.
Thereupon he addressed a letter to the paper, of which the following
is the material portion:'Another Correspondent of yours accuses me of
having

page 207



taken a Ballad, I published some Time ago, from one by the ingenious
Mr. Percy. I do not think there is any great Resemblance between the two
Pieces in Question. If there be any, his Ballad is taken from mine. I
read it to Mr. Percy some Years ago, and he (as we both considered these
Things as Trifles at best) told me, with his usual Good Humour, the
next Time I saw him, that he had taken my Plan to form the fragments of
Shakespeare into a Ballad of his own. He then read me his little Cento,
if I may so call it, and I highly approved it. Such petty Anecdotes
as these are scarce worth printing, and were it not for the busy
Disposition of some of your Correspondents, the Publick should never
have known that he owes me the Hint of his Ballad, or that I am obliged
to his Friendship and Learning for Communications of a much more
important Nature.I am, Sir, your's etc. OLIVER GOLDSMITH.' (St. James's
Chronicle, July 23-5, 1767.) No contradiction of this statement appears
to have been offered by Percy; but in re-editing his Reliques of Ancient
English Poetry in 1775, shortly after Goldsmith's death, he affixed
this note to The Friar of Orders Gray:'As the foregoing song has been
thought to have suggested to our late excellent poet, Dr. Goldsmith, the
plan of his beautiful ballad of Edwin and Emma [Angelina], first printed
[published?] in his Vicar of Wakefield, it is but justice to his memory
to declare, that his poem was written first, and that if there is any
imitation in the case, they will be found both to be indebted to the
beautiful old ballad, Gentle Herdsman, etc., printed in the second
volume of this work, which the doctor had much admired in manuscript,
and has finely improved' (vol. i. p. 250). The same story is told, in
slightly different terms, at pp. 74-5 of the Memoir of Goldsmith drawn
up under Percy's superintendence for the Miscellaneous Works of 1801,
and a few stanzas of Gentle Herdsman, which Goldsmith is supposed to
have had specially in mind, are there reproduced. References to
them will be found in the ensuing notes. The text here adopted (with
exception of ll. 117-20) is that of the fifth edition of The Vicar of
Wakefield, 1773[4], i. pp. 78-85; but the variations of the earlier
version of 1765 are duly chronicled, together with certain hitherto
neglected differences between the first and later editions of the novel.
The poem was also printed in the Poems for Young

page 208



Ladies, 1767, pp. 91-8.* The author himself, it may be added, thought
highly of it. 'As to my "Hermit," that poem,' he is reported to have
said, 'cannot be amended.' (Cradock's Memoirs, 1828, iv. 286.)

Turn, etc. The first version has

Deign saint-like tenant of the dale, To guide my nightly way, To yonder
fire, that cheers the vale With hospitable ray.

For yonder faithless phantom flies. The Vicar of Wakefield, first
edition, has

'For yonder phantom only flies.'

All. Vicar of Wakefield, first edition, 'For.'

Man wants but little here below. Cf. Young's Complaint, 1743, Night
iv. 9, of which this and the next line are a recollection. According
to Prior (Life, 1837, ii. 83), they were printed as a quotation in the
version of 1765. Young's line is

Man wants but Little; nor that Little, long.

modest. Vicar of Wakefield, first edition, 'grateful.'

Far in a wilderness obscure. First version, and Vicar of Wakefield,
first edition:

Far shelter'd in a glade obscure The modest mansion lay.

The wicket, opening with a latch. First version, and Vicar of Wakefield,
first edition:

The door just opening with a latch.

And now, when busy crowds retire. First version, and Vicar of Wakefield,
first edition:

And now, when worldly crowds retire To revels or to rest.

But nothing, etc. In the first version this stanza runs as follows:

But nothing mirthful could assuage The pensive stranger's woe; For grief
had seized his early age, And tears would often flow.

*This version differs considerably from the others, often following
that of 1765; but it has not been considered necessary to record
the variations here. That Goldsmith unceasingly revised the piece is
sufficiently established.

page 209



modern. Vicar of Wakefield, first edition, reads 'haughty.'

His love-lorn guest betray'd. First version, and Vicar of Wakefield,
first edition:

The bashful guest betray'd.

Surpris'd, he sees, etc. First version, and Vicar of Wakefield, first
edition:

He sees unnumber'd beauties rise, Expanding to the view; Like clouds
that deck the morning skies, As bright, as transient too.

The bashful look, the rising breast. First version, and Vicar of
Wakefield, first edition:

Her looks, her lips, her panting breast.

But let a maid, etc. For this, and the next two stanzas, the first
version substitutes:

Forgive, and let thy pious care A heart's distress allay; That seeks
repose, but finds despair Companion of the way.

My father liv'd, of high degree, Remote beside the Tyne; And as he had
but only me, Whate'er he had was mine.

To win me from his tender arms, Unnumber'd suitors came; Their chief
pretence my flatter'd charms, My wealth perhaps their aim.

a mercenary crowd. Vicar of Wakefield, first edition, has:'the gay
phantastic crowd.'

Amongst the rest young Edwin bow'd. First version:

Among the rest young Edwin bow'd, Who offer'd only love.

Wisdom and worth, etc. First version, and Vicar of Wakefield, first
edition:

A constant heart was all he had, But that was all to me.

page 210



And when beside me, etc. For this 'additional stanza,' says the Percy
Memoir, p. 76, 'the reader is indebted to Richard Archdal, Esq., late a
member of the Irish Parliament, to whom it was presented by the author
himself.' It was first printed in the Miscellaneous Works, 1801, ii. 25.
In Prior's edition of the Miscellaneous Works, 1837, iv. 41, it is said
to have been 'written some years after the rest of the poem.'

The blossom opening to the day, etc. For this and the next two stanzas
the first version substitutes:

Whene'er he spoke amidst the train, How would my heart attend! And till
delighted even to pain, How sigh for such a friend!

And when a little rest I sought In Sleep's refreshing arms, How have I
mended what he taught, And lent him fancied charms!

Yet still (and woe betide the hour!) I spurn'd him from my side, And
still with ill-dissembled power Repaid his love with pride.

For still I tried each fickle art, etc. Percy finds the prototype of
this in the following stanza of Gentle Herdsman:

And grew soe coy and nice to please, As women's lookes are often soe, He
might not kisse, nor hand forsoothe, Unlesse I willed him soe to doe.

Till quite dejected with my scorn, etc. The first edition reads this
stanza and the first two lines of the next thus:

Till quite dejected by my scorn, He left me to deplore; And sought a
solitude forlorn, And ne'er was heard of more. Then since he perish'd by
my fault, This pilgrimage I pay, etc.

And sought a solitude forlorn. Cf. Gentle Herdsman:

He gott him to a secrett place, And there he dyed without releeffe.

page 211



And there forlorn, despairing, hid, etc. The first edition for this and
the next two stanzas substitutes the following:

And there in shelt'ring thickets hid, I'll linger till I die; 'Twas thus
for me my lover did, And so for him will I.

'Thou shalt not thus,' the Hermit cried, And clasp'd her to his breast;
The astonish'd fair one turned to chide, 'Twas Edwin's self that prest.

For now no longer could he hide, What first to hide he strove; His looks
resume their youthful pride, And flush with honest love.

'Twas so for me, etc. Cf. Gentle Herdsman:

Thus every day I fast and pray, And ever will doe till I dye; And gett
me to some secret place, For soe did hee, and soe will I.

Forbid it, Heaven. Vicar of Wakefield, first edition, like the version
of 1765, has 'Thou shalt not thus.'

My life. Vicar of Wakefield, first edition, has 'O thou.'

No, never from this hour, etc. The first edition reads:

No, never, from this hour to part, Our love shall still be new; And the
last sigh that rends thy heart, Shall break thy Edwin's too.

The poem then concluded thus:

Here amidst sylvan bowers we'll rove, From lawn to woodland stray; Blest
as the songsters of the grove, And innocent as they.

To all that want, and all that wail, Our pity shall be given, And when
this life of love shall fail, We'll love again in heaven.

page 212



These couplets, with certain alterations in the first and last lines,
are to be found in the version printed in Poems for Young Ladies, 1767,
p. 98.


AN ELEGY ON THE DEATH OF A MAD DOG.

This poem was first published in The Vicar of Wakefield, 1766, i. 175-
6, where it is sung by one of the little boys. In common with the
Elegy on Mrs. Mary Blaize (p. 47) it owes something of its origin to
Goldsmith's antipathy to fashionable elegiacs, something also to the
story of M. de la Palisse. As regards mad dogs, its author seems to
have been more reasonable than many of his contemporaries, since he
ridiculed, with much common sense, their exaggerated fears on this
subject (v. Chinese Letter in The Public Ledger for August 29, 1760,
afterwards Letter lxvi of The Citizen of the World, 1762, ii. 15). But
it is ill jesting with hydrophobia. Like Madam Blaize, these verses have
been illustrated by Randolph Caldecott.

In Islington there was a man. Goldsmith had lodgings at Mrs. Elizabeth
Fleming's in Islington (or 'Isling town' as the earlier editions have
it) in 1763- 4; and the choice of the locality may have been determined
by this circumstance. But the date of the composition of the poem is
involved in the general obscurity which hangs over the Vicar in its
unprinted state. (See Introduction, pp. xviii-xix.)

The dog, to gain some private ends. The first edition reads 'his private
ends.'

The dog it was that died. This catastrophe suggests the couplet from the
Greek Anthology, ed. Jacobs, 1813-7, ii. 387:

Kappadoken pot exidna kake daken alla kai aute katthane, geusamene
aimatos iobolou.

Goldsmith, however, probably went no farther back than Voltaire on
Fréron:

L'autre jour, au fond d'un vallon, Un serpent mordit Jean Fréron.
Devinez ce qu'il arriva? Ce fut le serpent qui creva.

page 213



This again, according to M. Edouard Fournier (L'Esprit des Autres,
sixth edition, 1881, p. 288), is simply the readjustment of an earlier
quatrain, based upon a Latin distich in the Epigrammatum delectus,
1659:

Un gros serpent mordit Aurelle. Que croyez-vous qu'il arriva? Qu'Aurelle
en mourut?Bagatelle! Ce fut le serpent qui creva.


SONG FROM 'THE VICAR OF WAKEFIELD.'

First published in The Vicar of Wakefield, 1766, ii. 78 (chap. v). It
is there sung by Olivia Primrose, after her return home with her father.
'Do, my pretty Olivia,' says Mrs. Primrose, let us have that little
melancholy air your pappa was so fond of, your sister Sophy has already
obliged us. Do child, it will please your old father.' 'She complied
in a manner so exquisitely pathetic,' continues Dr. Primrose, 'as moved
me.' The charm of the words, and the graceful way in which they are
introduced, seem to have blinded criticism to the impropriety, and
even inhumanity, of requiring poor Olivia to sing a song so completely
applicable to her own case. No source has been named for this piece;
and its perfect conformity with the text would appear to indicate that
Goldsmith was not indebted to any earlier writer for his idea.

His well-known obligations to French sources seem, however, to have
suggested that, if a French original could not be discovered for
the foregoing lyric, it might be desirable to invent one. A clever
paragraphist in the St. James's Gazette for January 28th, 1889,
accordingly reproduced the following stanzas, which he alleged, were to
be found in the poems of Segur, 'printed in Paris in 1719':

Lorsqu'une femme, après trop de tendresse, D'un homme sent la trahison,
Comment, pour cette si douce foiblesse Peut-elle trouver une guérison?

page 214



Le seul remède qu'elle peut ressentir, La seul revanche pour son tort,
Pour faire trop tard l'amant repentir, Helas! trop tardest la mort.

As a correspondent was not slow to point out, Goldsmith, if a copyist,
at all events considerably improved his model (see in particular lines
7 and 8 of the French). On the 30th of the month the late Sir William
Fraser gave it as his opinion, that, until the volume of 1719 should
be produced, the 'very inferior verses quoted' must be classed with the
fabrications of 'Father Prout,' and he instanced that very version of
the Burial of Sir John Moore (Les Funérailles de Beaumanoir) which has
recently (August 1906) been going the round of the papers once again. No
Ségur volume of 1719 was, of course, forthcoming.

Kenrick, as we have already seen, had in 1767 accused Goldsmith of
taking Edwin and Angelina from Percy (p. 206). Thirty years later, the
charge of plagiarism was revived in a different way when Raimond
and Angéline, a French translation of the same poem, appeared, as
Goldsmith's original, in a collection of Essays called The Quiz, 1797.
It was eventually discovered to be a translation 'from' Goldsmith by a
French poet named Léonard, who had included it in a volume dated 1792,
entitled Lettres de deux Amans, Habitans de Lyon (Prior's Life,
1837, ii. 89-94). It may be added that, according to the Biographie
Universelle, 1847, vol. 18 (Art. 'Goldsmith'), there were then no fewer
than at least three French imitations of The Hermit besides Léonard's.


EPILOGUE TO 'THE GOOD NATUR'D MAN.'

Goldsmith's comedy of The Good Natur'd Man was produced by Colman,
at Covent Garden, on Friday, January 29, 1768. The following note was
appended to the Epilogue when printed:'The Author, in expectation of an
Epilogue from a friend at Oxford, deferred writing one himself till
the very last hour. What is here offered, owes all its success to the
graceful manner of the Actress who spoke it.' It was spoken by Mrs.
Bulkley, the 'Miss Richland' of the piece. In its first form it is to be

page 215



found in The Public Advertiser for February 3. Two days later the play
was published, with the version here followed.

As puffing quacks. Goldsmith had devoted a Chinese letter to this
subject. See Citizen of the World, 1762, ii. 10 (Letter lxv).

No, no: I've other contests, etc. This couplet is not in the first
version. The old building of the College of Physicians was in Warwick
Lane; and the reference is to the long-pending dispute, occasionally
enlivened by personal collision, between the Fellows and Licentiates
respecting the exclusion of certain of the latter from Fellowships. On
this theme Bonnell Thornton, himself an M.B. like Goldsmith, wrote a
satiric additional canto to Garth's Dispensary, entitled The Battle
of the Wigs, long extracts from which are printed in The Gentleman's
Magazine for March, 1768, p. 132. The same number also reviews The
Siege of the Castle of Æsculapius, an heroic Comedy, as it is acted in
Warwick- Lane. Goldsmith's couplet is, however, best illustrated by the
title of one of Sayer's caricatures, The March of the Medical Militants
to the Siege of Warwick-Lane-Castle in the Year 1767. The quarrel was
finally settled in favour of the college in June, 1771.

Go, ask your manager. Colman, the manager of Covent Garden, was not a
prolific, although he was a happy writer of prologues and epilogues.

The quotation is from King Lear, Act iii, Sc. 4.

In the first version the last line runs:

And view with favour, the 'Good-natur'd Man.'


EPILOGUE TO 'THE SISTER.'

The Sister, produced at Covent Garden February 18, 1769, was a comedy
by Mrs. Charlotte Lenox or Lennox, 'an ingenious lady,' says The
Gentleman's Magazine for April in the same year, 'well known in the
literary world by her excellent writings, particularly the Female
Quixote, and Shakespeare illustrated. . . . The audience expressed their
disapprobation of it with so much clamour and appearance of prejudice,
that she would not suffer an attempt to exhibit it a second time (p.
199).' According to the

page 216



same authority it was based upon one of the writer's own novels,
Henrietta, published in 1758. Though tainted with the prevailing
sentimentalism, The Sister is described by Forster as 'both amusing and
interesting'; and it is probable that it was not fairly treated when
it was acted. Mrs. Lenox (1720-1804), daughter of Colonel Ramsay,
Lieut.-Governor of New York, was a favourite with the literary magnates
of her day. Johnson was half suspected of having helped her in her book
on Shakespeare; Richardson admitted her to his readings at Parson's
Green; Fielding, who knew her, calls her, in the Journal of a Voyage
to Lisbon, 1755, p. 35 (first version), 'the inimitable author of the
Female Quixote'; and Goldsmith, though he had no kindness for genteel
comedy (see post, p. 228), wrote her this lively epilogue, which was
spoken by Mrs. Bulkley, who personated the 'Miss Autumn' of the piece.
Mrs. Lenox died in extremely reduced circumstances, and was buried by
the Right Hon. George Ross, who had befriended her later years. There
are several references to her in Boswell's Life of Johnson. (See also
Hawkins' Life, 2nd ed. 1787, pp. 285-7.)


PROLOGUE TO 'ZOBEIDE.'

Zobeide, a play by Joseph Cradock (1742-1826), of Gumley, in
Leicestershire, was produced by Colman at Covent Garden on Dec. 11,
1771. It was a translation from three acts of Les Scythes, an unfinished
tragedy by Voltaire. Goldsmith was applied to, through the Yates's, for
a prologue, and sent that here printed to the author of the play with
the following note:'Mr. Goldsmith presents his best respects to Mr.
Cradock, has sent him the Prologue, such as it is. He cannot take
time to make it better. He begs he will give Mr. Yates the proper
instructions; and so, even so, commits him to fortune and the publick.'
(Cradock's Memoirs, 1826, i. 224.) Yates, to the acting of whose wife
in the character of the heroine the success of the piece, which ran
for thirteen nights, was mainly attributable, was to have spoken the
prologue, but it ultimately fell to Quick, later the 'Tony Lumpkin' of
She Stoops to Conquer, who delivered it in the character of a sailor.
Cradock seems

page 217



subsequently to have sent a copy of Zobeide to Voltaire, who replied in
English as follows:

9e. 8bre. 1773. à ferney. Sr. Thanks to yr muse a foreign copper shines
Turn'd in to gold, and coin'd in sterling lines. You have done to much
honour to an old sick man of eighty. I am with the most sincere esteem
and gratitude Sr. Yr. obdt. Servt. Voltaire. A Monsieur Monsieur J.
Cradock.

The text of the prologue is here given as printed in Cradock's Memoirs,
1828, iii. 8-9. It is unnecessary to specify the variations between this
and the earlier issue of 1771.

In these bold times, etc. The reference is to Cook, who, on June 12,
1771, had returned to England in the Endeavour, after three years'
absence, having gone to Otaheite to observe the transit of Venus (l. 4).

Botanists. Mr. (afterward Sir Joseph) Banks and Dr. Solander, of the
British Museum, accompanied Cook.

go simpling, i.e. gathering simples, or herbs. Cf. Merry Wives of
Windsor, Act iii, Sc. 3:

'These lisping hawthorn buds that ... smell like Bucklersbury in
simple-time.'

In the caricatures of the day Solander figured as 'The simpling
Macaroni.' (See note, p. 247, l. 31.)

With Scythian stores. The scene of the play was laid in Scythia (v.
supra).

to make palaver, to hold a parley, generally with the intention of
cajoling. Two of Goldsmith's notes to Garrick in 1773 are endorsed by
the actor'Goldsmith's parlaver.' (Forster's Life, 1871, ii. 397.)

mercenary. Cradock gave the profits of Zobeide to Mrs. Yates. 'I
mentioned the disappointment it would be to you'she says in a letter to
him dated April 26, 1771'as you had generously given the emoluments of
the piece to me.' (Memoirs, 1828, iv. 211.)

page 218



THRENODIA AUGUSTALIS.

Augusta, widow of Frederick, Prince of Wales, and mother of George the
Third, died at Carlton House, February 8, 1772. This piece was spoken
and sung in Mrs. Teresa Cornelys's Great Room in Soho Square, on the
Thursday following (the 20th), being sold at the door as a small quarto
pamphlet, printed by William Woodfall. The author's name was not given;
but it was prefaced by this 'advertisement,' etc.:

'The following may more properly be termed a compilation than a poem. It
was prepared for the composer in little more than two days: and may be
considered therefore rather as an industrious effort of gratitude than
of genius. In justice to the composer it may likewise be right to inform
the public, that the music was adapted in a period of time equally
short.

SPEAKERS. Mr. Lee and Mrs. Bellamy.

SINGERS. Mr. Champnes, Mr. Dine, and Miss Jameson; with twelve chorus
singers. The music prepared and adapted by Signor Vento.

It isas Cunningham calls ita 'hurried and unworthy off- spring of the
muse of Goldsmith.'

(Part I). Celestial-like her bounty fell. The Princess's benefactions
are not exaggerated. 'She had paid off the whole of her husband's debts,
and she had given munificent sums in charity. More than 10,000 pounds a
year were given away by her in pensions to individuals whom she judged
deserving, very few of whom were aware, until her death, whence the
bounty came. The whole of her income she spent in England, and very
little on herself' (Augusta: Princess of Wales, by W. H. Wilkins,
Nineteenth Century, October, 1903, p. 675).

There faith shall come. This, and the three lines that follow, are
borrowed from Collins's Ode written in the beginning of the year 1746.

(Part II). The towers of Kew. 'The embellishments of Kew palace and
gardens, under the direction of [Sir William]

page 219



Chambers, and others, was the favourite object of her [Royal Highness's]
widowhood' (Bolton Corney).

Along the billow'd main. Cf. The Captivity, Act ii, l. 18.

Oswego's dreary shores. Cf. The Traveller, l. 411.

And with the avenging fight. Varied from Collins's Ode on the Death of
Colonel Charles Ross at Fontenoy.

Its earliest bloom. Cf. Collins's Dirge in Cymbeline.


SONG FROM 'SHE STOOPS TO CONQUER.'

This thoroughly characteristic song, for a parallel to which one must go
to Congreve, or to the 'Here's to the maiden of bashful fifteen' of The
School for Scandal, has one grave defect,it is too good to have been
composed by Tony Lumpkin, who, despite his inability to read anything
but 'print- hand,' declares, in Act i. Sc. 2 of She Stoops to Conquer,
1773, that he himself made it upon the ale-house ('The Three Pigeons')
in which he sings it, and where it is followed by the annexed comments,
directed by the author against the sentimentalists, who, in The Good
Natur'd Man of five years before, had insisted upon the omission of the
Bailiff scene:

'OMNES.

Bravo, bravo!

First FELLOW.

The 'Squire has got spunk in him.

Second FELLOW.

I loves to hear him sing, bekeays he never gives us nothing that's low .
. .

Fourth FELLOW.

The genteel thing is the genteel thing at any time. If so be that a
gentleman bees in a concatenation accordingly.

Third FELLOW.

I like the maxum of it, Master Muggins. What, tho' I am obligated to
dance a bear, a man may be a gentleman for all that. May this be my
poison if my bear ever dances but to

page 220



the very genteelest of tunes. Water Parted,* or the minuet in Ariadne.'

When Methodist preachers, etc. Tony Lumpkin's utterance accurately
represents the view of this sect taken by some of his contemporaries.
While moderate and just spectators of the Johnson type could recognize
the sincerity of men, who, like Wesley, travelled 'nine hundred miles
in a month, and preached twelve times a week' for no ostensibly adequate
reward, there were others who saw in Methodism, and especially in the
extravagancies of its camp followers, nothing but cant and duplicity.
It was this which prompted on the stage Foote's Minor (1760) and
Bickerstaffe's Hypocrite (1768); in art the Credulity, Superstition, and
Fanaticism of Hogarth (1762); and in literature the New Bath Guide of
Anstey (1766), the Spiritual Quixote of Graves, 1772, and the sarcasms
of Sterne, Smollett and Walpole.

It is notable that the most generous contemporary portrait of these much
satirised sectaries came from one of the originals of the Retaliation
gallery. Scott highly praises the character of Ezekiel Daw in
Cumberland's Henry, 1795, adding, in his large impartial fashion, with
reference to the general practice of representing Methodists either as
idiots or hypocrites, 'A very different feeling is due to many, perhaps
to most, of this enthusiastic sect; nor is it rashly to be inferred,
that he who makes religion the general object of his life, is for
that sole reason to be held either a fool or an impostor.' (Scott's
Miscellaneous Prose Works, 1834, iii. 222.)

But of all the birds in the air. Hypercriticism may object that 'the
hare' is not a bird. But exigence of rhyme has to answer for many
things. Some editors needlessly read 'the gay birds' to lengthen the
line. There is no sanction for this in the earlier editions.


EPILOGUE TO 'SHE STOOPS TO CONQUER.'

This epilogue was spoken by Mrs. Bulkley in the character of Miss
Hardcastle. It is probably the epilogue described by

*i.e. Arne's Water Parted from the Sea,the song of Arbaces in the opera
of Artaxerxes 1762. The minuet in Ariadne was by Handel. It came at
the end of the overture, and is said to have been the best thing in the
opera.

page 221



Goldsmith to Cradock, in the letter quoted at p. 246, as 'a very mawkish
thing,' a phrase not so incontestable as Bolton Corney's remark that it
is 'an obvious imitation of Shakespere.'

That pretty Bar- maids have done execution. Cf. The Vicar of Wakefield,
1766, i. 7:'Sophia's features were not so striking at first; but often
did more certain execution.'

coquets the guests. Johnson explains this word 'to entertain with
compliments and amorous tattle,' and quotes the following illustration
from Swift, 'You are coquetting a maid of honour, my lord looking on to
see how the gamesters play, and I railing at you both.'

Nancy Dawson. Nancy Dawson was a famous 'toast' and horn-pipe dancer,
who died at Haverstock Hill, May 27, 1767, and was buried behind the
Foundling, in the burial-ground of St. George the Martyr. She first
appeared at Sadler's Wells, and speedily passed to the stage of Covent
Garden, where she danced in the Beggar's Opera. There is a portrait of
her in the Garrick Club, and there are several contemporary prints. She
was the heroine of a popular song, here referred to, beginning:

Of all the girls in our town, The black, the fair, the red, the brown,
Who dance and prance it up and down, There's none like Nancy Dawson: Her
easy mien, her shape so neat, She foots, she trips, she looks so sweet,
Her ev'ry motion is complete; I die for Nancy Dawson.

Its tunesays J. T. Smith (Book for a Rainy Day, Whitten's ed., 1905, p.
10) was 'as lively as that of "Sir Roger de Coverley."'

Che farò, i.e. Che farò senza Euridice, the lovely lament from Glück's
Orfeo, 1764.

the Heinel of Cheapside. The reference is to Mademoiselle Anna-Frederica
Heinel, 1752-1808, a beautiful Prussian, subsequently the wife of
Gaetano Apollino Balthazar Vestris, called 'Vestris the First.' After
extraordinary success as a danseuse at Stuttgard and Paris, where
Walpole saw her in 1771

page 222



(Letter to the Earl of Strafford 25th August), she had come to London;
and, at this date, was the darling of the Macaronies (cf. the note on
p. 247, l. 31), who, from their club, added a regallo (present) of six
hundred pounds to the salary allowed her at the Haymarket. On April 1,
1773, Metastasio's Artaserse was performed for her benefit, when she was
announced to dance a minuet with Monsieur Fierville, and 'Tickets were
to be hand, at her house in Piccadilly, two doors from Air Street.'

spadille, i.e. the ace of spades, the first trump in the game of Ombre.
Cf. Swift's Journal of a Modern Lady in a Letter to a Person of Quality,
1728:

She draws up card by card, to find Good fortune peeping from behind;
With panting heart, and earnest eyes, In hope to see spadillo rise; In
vain, alas! her hope is fed; She draws an ace, and sees it red.

Bayes. The chief character in Buckingham's Rehearsal, 1672, and intended
for John Dryden. Here the name is put for the 'poet' or 'dramatist.' Cf.
Murphy's Epilogue to Cradock's Zobeide, 1771:

Not e'en poor 'Bayes' within must hope to be Free from the lash:His
Play he writ for me 'Tis trueand now my gratitude you'll see;

and Colman's Epilogue to The School for Scandal, 1777:

So wills our virtuous bardthe motley Bayes Of crying epilogues and
laughing plays!


RETALIATION.

Retaliation: A Poem. By Doctor Goldsmith. Including Epitaphs on the Most
Distinguished Wits of this Metropolis, was first published by G. Kearsly
in April, 1774, as a 4to pamphlet of 24 pp. On the title-page is a
vignette head of the author, etched by James Basire, after Reynolds's
portrait; and the verses are prefaced by an anonymous letter to the
publisher, concluding as follows:'Dr. Goldsmith belonged to a Club
of Beaux Esprits, where Wit sparkled sometimes at the Expence of
Good-nature.

page 223



It was proposed to write Epitaphs on the Doctor; his Country, Dialect
and Person, furnished Subjects of Witticism.The Doctor was called on
for' Retaliation, 'and at their next Meeting produced the following
Poem, which I think adds one Leaf to his immortal Wreath. This account
seems to have sufficed for Evans, Percy, and the earlier editors. But
in vol. i. p. 78 of his edition of Goldsmith's Works, 1854, Mr.
Peter Cunningham published for the first time a fuller version of the
circumstances, derived from a manuscript lent to him by Mr. George
Daniel of Islington; and (says Mr. Cunningham) 'evidently designed as
a preface to a collected edition of the poems which grew out of
Goldsmith's trying his epigrammatic powers with Garrick.' It is signed
'D. Garrick.' 'At a meeting'says the writer'of a company of gentlemen,
who were well known to each other, and diverting themselves, among many
other things, with the peculiar oddities of Dr. Goldsmith, who would
never allow a superior in any art, from writing poetry down to dancing
a horn-pipe, the Dr. with great eagerness insisted upon trying his
epigrammatic powers with Mr. Garrick, and each of them was to write
the other's epitaph. Mr. Garrick immediately said that his epitaph was
finished, and spoke the following distich extempore:

Here lies NOLLY Goldsmith, for shortness call'd Noll, Who wrote like an
angel, but talk'd like poor Poll.

Goldsmith, upon the company's laughing very heartily, grew very
thoughtful, and either would not, or could not, write anything at
that time: however, he went to work, and some weeks after produced the
following printed poem called Retaliation, which has been much admired,
and gone through several editions.' This account, though obviously
from Garrick's point of view, is now accepted as canonical, and has
superseded those of Davies, Cradock, Cumberland, and others, to which
some reference is made in the ensuing notes. A few days after the
publication of the first edition, which appeared on the 18th or 19th
of April, a 'new' or second edition was issued, with four pages of
'Explanatory Notes, Observations, etc.' At the end came the following
announcement:'G. Kearsly, the Publisher, thinks it his duty to declare,
that

page 224



Dr. Goldsmith wrote the Poem as it is here printed, a few errors of the
press excepted, which are taken notice of at the bottom of this page.'
From this version Retaliation is here reproduced. In the third edition,
probably in deference to some wounded susceptibilities, the too
comprehensive 'most Distinguished Wits of the Metropolis' was qualified
into 'some of the most Distinguished Wits,' etc., but no further
material alteration was made in the text until the suspicious lines on
Caleb Whitefoord were added to the fifth edition.

With the exception of Garrick's couplet, and the fragment of Whitefoord
referred to at p. 234, none of the original epitaphs upon which
Goldsmith was invited to 'retaliate' have survived. But the unexpected
ability of the retort seems to have prompted a number of ex post facto
performances, some of which the writers would probably have been glad
to pass off as their first essays. Garrick, for example, produced three
short pieces, one of which ('Here, Hermes! says Jove, who with nectar
was mellow') hits off many of Goldsmith's contradictions and foibles
with considerable skill (v. Davies's Garrick, 2nd ed., 1780, ii. 157).
Cumberland (v. Gent. Mag., Aug. 1778, p. 384) parodied the poorest part
of Retaliation, the comparison of the guests to dishes, by likening them
to liquors, and Dean Barnard in return rhymed upon Cumberland. He wrote
also an apology for his first attack, which is said to have been very
severe, and conjured the poet to set his wit at Garrick, who, having
fired his first shot, was keeping out of the way:

On him let all thy vengeance fall; On me you but misplace it: Remember
how he called thee Poll But, ah! he dares not face it.

For these, and other forgotten pieces arising out of Retaliation,
Garrick had apparently prepared the above-mentioned introduction. It
may be added that the statement, prefixed to the first edition, that
^Retaliation^, as we now have it, was produced at the 'next meeting'
of the Club, is manifestly incorrect. It was composed and circulated in
detached fragments, and Goldsmith was still working at it when he was
seized with his last illness.

Of old, when Scarron, etc. Paul Scarron (1610-60), the author inter alia
of the Roman Comique, 1651-7, upon a translation

page 225



of which Goldsmith was occupied during the last months of his life. It
was published by Griffin in 1776.

Each guest brought his dish. 'Chez Scarron,'says his editor, M. Charles
Baumet, when speaking of the poet's entertainments,'venait d'ailleurs
l'élite des dames, des courtisans & des hommes de lettres. On y dinait
joyeusement. Chacun apportait son plat.' (uvres de Scarron, 1877, i.
viii.) Scarron's company must have been as brilliant as Goldsmith's.
Villarceaux, Vivonne, the Maréchal d'Albret, figured in his list of
courtiers; while for ladies he had Mesdames Deshoulières, de Scudéry,
de la Sablière, and de Sévigné, to say nothing of Ninon de Lenclos and
Marion Delorme. (Cf. also Guizot, Corneille et son Temps, 1862, 429-30.)

If our landlord. The 'explanatory note' to the second edition says'The
master of the St. James's coffee- house, where the Doctor, and the
friends he has characterized in this Poem, held an occasional club.'
This, it should be stated, was not the famous 'Literary Club,' which
met at the Turk's Head Tavern in Gerrard Street. The St. James's
Coffee-house, as familiar to Swift and Addison at the beginning, as it
was to Goldsmith and his friends at the end of the eighteenth century,
was the last house but one on the south- west corner of St. James's
Street. It now no longer exists. Cradock (Memoirs, 1826, i. 228- 30)
speaks of dining at the bottom of St. James's Street with Goldsmith,
Percy, the two Burkes (v. infra), Johnson, Garrick, Dean Barnard, and
others. 'We sat very late;' he adds in conclusion, 'and the conversation
that at last ensued, was the direct cause of my friend Goldsmith's poem,
called "Retaliation."'

Our Dean. Dr. Thomas Barnard, an Irishman, at this time Dean of Derry.
He died at Wimbledon in 1806. It was Dr. Barnard who, in reply to a rude
sally of Johnson, wrote the charming verses on improvement after the age
of forty-five, which end

If I have thoughts, and can't express them, Gibbon shall teach me how to
dress them, In terms select and terse; Jones teach me modesty and Greek,
Smith how to think, Burke how to speak, And Beauclerk to converse.

page 226



Let Johnson teach me how to place In fairest light, each borrow'd grace,
From him I'll learn to write; Copy his clear, familiar style, And from
the roughness of his file Grow like himselfpolite.

(Northcote's Life of Reynolds, 2nd ed., 1819, i. 221.) According to
Cumberland (Memoirs, 1807, i. 370), 'The dean also gave him [Goldsmith]
an epitaph, and Sir Joshua illuminated the dean's verses with a
sketch of his bust in pen and ink inimitably caricatured.' What
would collectors give for that sketch and epitaph! Unfortunately in
Cumberland's septuagenarian recollections the 'truth severe' is mingled
with an unusual amount of 'fairy fiction.' However Sir Joshua did
draw caricatures, for a number of them were exhibited at the Grosvenor
Gallery (by the Duke of Devonshire) in the winter of 1883-4.

Our Burke. The Right Hon. Edmund Burke, 1729- 97.

Our Will. 'Mr. William Burke, late Secretary to General Conway, and
member for Bedwin, Wiltshire' (Note to second edition). He was a kinsman
of Edmund Burke, and one of the supposed authors of Junius's Letters. He
died in 1798. 'It is said that the notices Goldsmith first wrote of the
Burkes were so severe that Hugh Boyd persuaded the poet to alter them,
and entirely rewrite the character of William, for he was sure that if
the Burkes saw what was originally written of them the peace of the
Club would be disturbed.' (Rev. W. Hunt in Dict. Nat. Biography, Art.
'William Burke.')

And Dick. Richard Burke, Edmund Burke's younger brother. He was for some
years Collector to the Customs at Grenada, being on a visit to London
when Retaliation was written (Forster's Life, 1871, ii. 404). He died in
1794, Recorder of Bristol.

Our Cumberland's sweetbread. Richard Cumberland, the poet, novelist, and
dramatist, 1731-1811, author of The West Indian, 1771, The Fashionable
Lover, 1772, and many other more or less sentimental plays. In
his Memoirs, 1807, i. 369-71, he gives an account of the origin of
Retaliation, which adds a few dubious particulars to that of Garrick.
But it was written from memory long after the events it records.

page 227



Douglas. 'Dr. Douglas, since Bishop of Salisbury,' says Cumberland. He
died in 1807 (v. infra).

Ridge. 'Counsellor John Ridge, a gentleman belonging to the Irish
Bar' (Note to second edition). 'Burke,' says Bolton Corney, 'in 1771,
described him as "one of the honestest and best-natured men living, and
inferior to none of his profession in ability."' (See also note to line
125.)

Hickey. The commentator of the second edition of Retaliation calls this
gentleman 'honest Tom Hickey'. His Christian name, however, was Joseph
(Letter of Burke, November 8, 1774). He was a jovial, good-natured,
over-blunt Irishman, the legal adviser of both Burke and Reynolds.
Indeed it was Hickey who drew the conveyance of the land on which
Reynolds's house 'next to the Star and Garter' at Richmond (Wick House)
was built by Chambers the architect. Hickey died in 1794. Reynolds
painted his portrait for Burke, and it was exhibited at the Royal
Academy in 1772 (No. 208). In 1833 it belonged to Mr. T. H. Burke. Sir
Joshua also painted Miss Hickey in 1769-73. Her father, not much to
Goldsmith's satisfaction, was one of the Paris party in 1770. See also
note to l. 125.

Magnanimous Goldsmith. According to Malone (Reynolds's Works, second
edition, 1801, i. xc), Goldsmith intended to have concluded with his own
character.

Tommy Townshend, M.P. for Whitchurch, Hampshire, afterwards first
Viscount Sydney. He died in 1800. Junius says Bolton Corney, gives a
portrait of him as still life. His presence in Retaliation is accounted
for by the fact that he had commented in Parliament upon Johnson's
pension. 'I am well assured,' says Boswell, 'that Mr. Townshend's attack
upon Johnson was the occasion of his "hitching in a rhyme"; for, that
in the original copy of Goldsmith's character of Mr. Burke, in his
Retaliation another person's name stood in the couplet where Mr.
Townshend is now introduced.' (Birkbeck Hill's Boswell, 1887, iv. 318.)

too deep for his hearers. 'The emotion to which he commonly appealed was
that too rare one, the love of wisdom, and he combined his thoughts
and knowledge in propositions of wisdom so weighty and strong, that the
minds of ordinary hearers

page 228



were not on the instant prepared for them.' (Morley's Burke, 1882, 209-
10.)

And thought of convincing, while they thought of dining. For the reason
given in the previous note, many of Burke's hearers often took the
opportunity of his rising to speak, to retire to dinner. Thus he
acquired the nickname of the 'Dinner Bell.'

To eat mutton cold. There is a certain resemblance between this
character and Gray's lines on himself written in 1761, beginning 'Too
poor for a bribe, and too proud to importune.' (See Gosse's Gray's
Works, 1884, i. 127.) But both Gray and Goldsmith may have been thinking
of a line in the once popular song of Ally Croaker:

Too dull for a wit, too grave for a joker.

honest William, i.e. William Burke (v. supra).

Now breaking a jest, and now breaking a limb. A note to the second
edition says'The above Gentleman [Richard Burke, v. supra] having
slightly fractured one of his arms and legs, at different times, the
Doctor [i.e. Goldsmith] has rallied him on those accidents, as a kind of
retributive justice for breaking his jests on other people.'

Here Cumberland lies. According to Boaden's Life of Kemble, 1825, i.
438, Mrs. Piozzi rightly regarded this portrait as wholly ironical; and
Bolton Corney, without much expenditure of acumen, discovers it to have
been written in a spirit of persiflage. Nevertheless, Cumberland
himself (Memoirs, 1807, i. 369) seems to have accepted it in good
faith. Speaking of Goldsmith he saysI conclude my account of him
with gratitude for the epitaph he bestowed on me in his poem
called Retaliation.' From the further details which he gives of the
circumstances, it would appear that his own performance, of which he
could recall but one line

All mourn the poet, I lament the man

was conceived in a less malicious spirit than those of the others, and
had predisposed the sensitive bard in his favour. But no very genuine
cordiality could be expected to exist between the rival authors of The
West Indian and She Stoops to Conquer.

And Comedy wonders at being so fine. It is instructive

page 229



here to transcribe Goldsmith's serious opinion of the kind of work which
Cumberland essayed:'A new species of Dramatic Composition has been
introduced, under the name of Sentimental Comedy, in which the virtues
of Private Life are exhibited, rather than the Vices exposed; and the
Distresses rather than the Faults of Mankind, make our interest in the
piece. . . . In these Plays almost all the Characters are good, and
exceedingly generous; they are lavish enough of their Tin Money on the
Stage, and though they want Humour, have abundance of Sentiment and
Feeling. If they happen to have Faults or Foibles, the Spectator is
taught not only to pardon, but to applaud them, in consideration of the
goodness of their hearts; so that Folly, instead of being ridiculed,
is commended, and the Comedy aims at touching our Passions without the
power of being truly pathetic.' (Westminster Magazine, 1772, i. 5.) Cf.
also the Preface to The Good Natur'd Man, where he 'hopes that too much
refinement will not banish humour and character from our's, as it has
already done from the French theatre. Indeed the French comedy is now
become so very elevated and sentimental, that it has not only banished
humour and Moliere from the stage, but it has banished all spectators
too.'

The scourge of impostors, the terror of quacks. Dr. John Douglas (v.
supra) distinguished himself by his exposure of two of his countrymen,
Archibald Bower, 1686-1766, who, being secretly a member of the Catholic
Church, wrote a History of the Popes; and William Lauder 1710- 1771, who
attempted to prove Milton a plagiarist. Cf. Churchill's Ghost, Bk. ii:

By TRUTH inspir'd when Lauder's spight O'er MILTON cast the Veil of
Night, DOUGLAS arose, and thro' the maze Of intricate and winding ways,
Came where the subtle Traitor lay, And dragg'd him trembling to the day.

'Lauder on Milton' is one of the books bound to the trunk-maker's in
Hogarth's Beer Street, 1751. He imposed on Johnson, who wrote him a
'Preface' and was consequently trounced by Churchill (ut supra) as 'our
Letter'd POLYPHEME.'

Our Dodds shall be pious. The reference is to the Rev.

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Dr. William Dodd, who three years after the publication of Retaliation
(i.e. June 27, 1777) was hanged at Tyburn for forging the signature
of the fifth Earl of Chesterfield, to whom he had been tutor. His life
previously had long been scandalous enough to justify Goldsmith's words.
Johnson made strenuous and humane exertions to save Dodd's life, but
without avail. (See Birkbeck Hill's Boswell, 1887, iii. 139-48.) There
is an account of Dodd's execution at the end of vol. i of Angelo's
Reminiscences, 1830.

our Kenricks. Dr. William Kenricksay the earlier annotatorswho
'read lectures at the Devil Tavern, under the Title of "The School of
Shakespeare."' The lectures began January 19, 1774, and help to fix the
date of the poem. Goldsmith had little reason for liking this versatile
and unprincipled Ishmaelite of letters, who, only a year before, had
penned a scurrilous attack upon him in The London Packet. Kenrick died
in 1779.

Macpherson. 'David [James] Macpherson, Esq.; who lately, from the mere
force of his style, wrote down the first poet of all antiquity.' (Note
to second edition.) This was 'Ossian' Macpherson, 1738-96, who, in 1773,
had followed up his Erse epics by a prose translation of Homer, which
brought him little but opprobrium. 'Your abilities, since your Homer,
are not so formidable,' says Johnson in the knockdown letter which he
addressed to him in 1775. (Birkbeck Hill's Boswell, 1887, ii. 298.)

Our Townshend. See note to line 34.

New Lauders and Bowers. See note to l. 80.

And Scotchman meet Scotchman, and cheat in the dark. Mitford compares
Farquhar's Love and a Bottle, 1699, Act iii

But gods meet gods and jostle in the dark.

But Farquhar was quoting from Dryden and Lee's Oedipus, 1679, Act iv (at
end).

Here lies David Garrick. 'The sum of all that can be said for and
against Mr. Garrick, some people think, may be found in these lines of
Goldsmith,' writes Davies in his Life of Garrick, 2nd ed., 1780, ii.
159. Posterity has been less hesitating in its verdict. 'The lines on
Garrick,' says Forster, Life of Goldsmith, 1871, ii. 409, 'are quite
perfect writing. Without anger, the satire is finished, keen, and
uncompromising; the wit is adorned by most discriminating praise; and
the truth is

page 231



only the more unsparing for its exquisite good manners and good taste.'

Ye Kenricks. See note to line 86.

ye Kellys. Hugh Kelly (1739- 1777), an Irishman, the author of False
Delicacy, 1768; A Word to the Wise, 1770; The School for Wives, 1774,
and other sentimental dramas, is here referred to. His first play, which
is described in Garrick's prologue as a 'Sermon,' 'preach'd in Acts,'
was produced at Drury Lane just six days before Goldsmith's comedy of
The Good Natur'd Man appeared at Covent Garden, and obtained a success
which it ill deserved. False Delicacysaid Johnson truly (Birkbeck
Hill's Boswell, 1887, ii. 48)'was totally void of character,'a
crushing accusation to make against a drama. But Garrick, for his
private ends, had taken up Kelly as a rival to Goldsmith; and the
comédie sérieuse or larmoyante of La Chaussée, Sedaine, and Diderot
had already found votaries in England. False Delicacy, weak, washy, and
invertebrate as it was, completed the transformation of 'genteel' into
'sentimental' comedy, and establishing that ^genre^ for the next few
years, effectually retarded the wholesome reaction towards humour and
character which Goldsmith had tried to promote by The Good Natur'd Man.
(See note to l. 66.)

Woodfalls. 'William Woodfall'says Bolton Corney'successively editor of
The London Packet and The Morning Chronicle, was matchless as a reporter
of speeches, and an able theatrical critic. He made lofty pretensions
to editorial impartialitybut the actor [i.e. Garrick] was not always
satisfied.' He died in 1803. He must not be confounded with Henry
Sampson Woodfall, the editor of Junius's Letters. (See note to l. 162.)

To act as an angel. There is a sub-ironic touch in this phrase which
should not be overlooked. Cf. l. 102.

Here Hickey reclines. See note to l. 15. In Cumberland's Poetical
Epistle to Dr. Goldsmith; or Supplement to his Retaliation (Gentleman's
Magazine, Aug. 1778, p. 384) Hickey's genial qualities are thus referred
to:

Give RIDGE and HICKY, generous souls! Of WHISKEY PUNCH convivial bowls.

a special attorney. A special attorney was merely an

page 232



attorney who practised in one court only. The species is now said to be
extinct.

burn ye. The annotator of the second edition, apologizing for this
'forced' rhyme to 'attorney,' informs the English reader that the phrase
of 'burn ye' is 'a familiar method of salutation in Ireland amongst the
lower classes of the people.'

Here Reynolds is laid. This shares the palm with the admirable epitaphs
on Garrick and Burke. But Goldsmith loved Reynolds, and there are no
satiric strokes in the picture. If we are to believe Malone (Reynolds's
Works, second edition, 1801, i. xc), 'these were the last lines the
author wrote.'

bland. Malone (ut supra, lxxxix) notes this word as 'eminently happy,
and characteristick of his [Reynolds's] easy and placid manners.'
Boswell (Dedication of Life of Johnson) refers to his 'equal and placid
temper.' Cf. also Dean Barnard's verses (Northcote's Life of Reynolds,
2nd ed., 1819, i. 220), and Mrs. Piozzi's lines in her Autobiography,
2nd ed., 1861, ii. 175-6.

He shifted his trumpet. While studying Raphael in the Vatican in 1751,
Reynolds caught so severe a cold 'as to occasion a deafness which
obliged him to use an ear-trumpet for the remainder of his life.'
(Taylor and Leslie's Reynolds, 1865, i. 50.) This instrument figures in
a portrait of himself which he painted for Thrale about 1775. See also
Zoffany's picture of the 'Academicians gathered about the model in the
Life School at Somerset House,' 1772, where he is shown employing it to
catch the conversation of Wilton and Chambers.

and only took snuff. Sir Joshua was a great snuff-taker. His snuff-box,
described in the Catalogue as the one 'immortalized in Goldsmith's
Retaliation,' was exhibited, with his spectacles and other personal
relics, at the Grosvenor Gallery in 1883-4. In the early editions this
epitaph breaks off abruptly at the word 'snuff.' But Malone says that
half a line more had been written. Prior gives this half line as 'By
flattery unspoiled,' and affirms that among several erasures in the
manuscript sketch devoted to Reynolds it 'remained unaltered.' (Life,
1837, ii. 499.) See notes to ll. 53, 56, and 91 of The Haunch of
Venison.

Here Whitefoord reclines. The circumstances which led to the insertion
of these lines in the fifth edition are detailed in

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the prefatory words of the publisher given at p. 92. There is more than
a suspicion that Whitefoord wrote them himself; but they have too long
been accepted as an appendage to the poem to be now displaced. Caleb
Whitefoord (born 1734) was a Scotchman, a wine-merchant, and an art
connoisseur, to whom J. T. Smith, in his Life of Nollekens, 1828,
i. 333-41, devotes several pages. He was one of the party at the St.
James's Coffee-house. He died in 1810. There is a caricature of him in
'Connoisseurs inspecting a Collection of George Morland,' November, 16,
1807; and Wilkie's Letter of Introduction, 1814, was a reminiscence of a
visit which, when he first came to London, he paid to Whitefoord. He was
also painted by Reynolds and Stuart. Hewins's Whitefoord Papers, 1898,
throw no light upon the story of the epitaph.

a grave man. Cf. Romeo and Juliet, Act iii, Sc. 1:'Ask for me
to-morrow, and you shall find me a grave man.' This Shakespearean
recollection is a little like Goldsmith's way. (See note to The Haunch
of Venison, l. 120.)

and rejoic'd in a pun. 'Mr. W. is so notorious a punster, that Doctor
Goldsmith used to say, it was impossible to keep him company, without
being infected with the itch of punning.' (Note to fifth edition.)

'if the table he set on a roar.' Cf. Hamlet, Act v, Sc. I.

Woodfall, i.e. Henry Sampson Woodfall, printer of The Public Advertiser.
He died in 1805. (See note to l. 115.)

Cross-Readings, Ship-News, and Mistakes of the Press. Over the nom de
guerre of 'Papyrius Cursor,' a real Roman name, but as happy in
its applicability as Thackeray's 'Manlius Pennialinus,' Whitefoord
contributed many specimens of this mechanic wit to The Public
Advertiser. The 'Cross Readings' were obtained by taking two or
three columns of a newspaper horizontally and 'onwards' instead of
'vertically' and downwards, thus:

Colds caught at this season are The Companion to the Playhouse.

or

To be sold to the best Bidder, My seat in Parliament being vacated.

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A more elaborate example is

On Tuesday an address was presented; it unhappily missed fire and the
villain made off, when the honour of knighthood was conferred on him to
the great joy of that noble family

Goldsmith was hugely delighted with Whitefoord's 'lucky inventions'
when they first became popular in 1766. 'He declared, in the heat of his
admiration of them, it would have given him more pleasure to have been
the author of them than of all the works he had ever published of his
own' (Northcote's Life of Reynolds, 2nd ed., 1819, i. 217). What
is perhaps more remarkable is, that Johnson spoke of Whitefoord's
performances as 'ingenious and diverting' (Birkbeck Hill's Boswell,
1887, iv. 322); and Horace Walpole laughed over them till he cried
(Letter to Montagu, December 12, 1766). To use Voltaire's witticism, he
is bien heureux who can laugh now. It may be added that Whitefoord
did not, as he claimed, originate the 'Cross Readings.' They had been
anticipated in No. 49 of Harrison's spurious Tatler, vol. v [1720].

The fashion of the 'Ship-News' was in this wise: 'August 25 [1765]. We
hear that his Majestys Ship Newcastle will soon have a new figurehead,
the old one being almost worn out.' The 'Mistakes of the Press' explain
themselves. (See also Smith's Life of Nollekens, 1828, i. 336-7;
Debrett's New Foundling Hospital for Wit, 1784, vol. ii, and Gentleman's
Magazine, 1810, p. 300.)

That a Scot may have humour, I had almost said wit. Goldsmith,if he
wrote these verses,must have forgotten that he had already credited
Whitefoord with 'wit' in l. 153.

Thou best humour'd man with the worst humour'd muse. Cf. Rochester of
Lord Buckhurst, afterwards Earl of Dorset:

The best good man, with the worst-natur'd muse.

Whitefoord's contribution to the epitaphs on Goldsmith is said to have
been unusually severe,so severe that four only of its eight lines
are quoted in the Whitefoord Papers, 1898, the rest being 'unfit for
publication' (p. xxvii). He afterwards addressed a metrical apology to
Sir Joshua, which is printed at pp. 217-8 of Northcote's Life, 2nd ed.,
1819. See also Forster's Goldsmith, 1871, ii. 408- 9.

page 235



SONG FOR 'SHE STOOPS TO CONQUER.'

Boswell, to whom we are indebted for the preservation of this lively
song, sent it to The London Magazine for June, 1774 (vol. xliii, p.
295), with the following:

'To the Editor of The London Magazine.

SIR,I send you a small production of the late Dr. Goldsmith, which has
never been published, and which might perhaps have been totally lost
had I not secured it. He intended it as a song in the character of Miss
Hardcastle, in his admirable comedy, She stoops to conquer; but it was
left out, as Mrs. Bulkley who played the part did not sing. He sung it
himself in private companies very agreeably. The tune is a pretty Irish
air, called The Humours of Balamagairy, to which, he told me, he found
it very difficult to adapt words; but he has succeeded happily in these
few lines. As I could sing the tune, and was fond of them, he was so
good as to give me them about a year ago, just as I was leaving London,
and bidding him adieu for that season, little apprehending that it was a
last farewell. I preserve this little relick in his own handwriting with
an affectionate care.

I am, Sir, Your humble Servant, JAMES BOSWELL.'

When, seventeen years later, Boswell published his Life of Samuel
Johnson, LL.D., he gave an account of his dining at General Oglethorpe's
in April, 1773, with Johnson and Goldsmith; and he says that the latter
sang the Three Jolly Pigeons, and this song, to the ladies in the
tea-room. Croker, in a note, adds that the younger Colman more
appropriately employed the 'essentially low comic' air for Looney
Mactwolter in the [Review; or the] Wags of Windsor, 1808 [i.e. in that
character's song beginning'Oh, whack! Cupid's a mannikin'], and that
Moore tried to bring it into good company in the ninth number of the
Irish Melodies. But Croker did not admire the tune, and thought poorly
of Goldsmith's words. Yet they are certainly fresher than Colman's or
Moore's:

SingsingMusic was given, To brighten the gay, and kindle the loving;
Souls here, like planets in Heaven, By harmony's laws alone are kept
moving, etc.

page 236



TRANSLATION.

These lines, which appear at p. 312 of vol. V of the History of the
Earth and Animated Nature, 1774, are freely translated from some Latin
verses by Addison in No 412 of the Spectator, where they are introduced
as follows:'Thus we see that every different Species of sensible
Creatures has its different Notions of Beauty, and that each of them is
most affected with the Beauties of its own kind. This is nowhere more
remarkable than in Birds of the same Shape and Proportion, where we
often see the Male determined in his Courtship by the single Grain
or Tincture of a Feather, and never discovering any Charms but in
the Colour of its own Species.' Addison's lines, of which Goldsmith
translated the first fourteen only, are printed from his corrected MS.
at p. 4 of Some Portions of Essays contributed to the Spectator by Mr.
Joseph Addison [by the late J. <DW18>s Campbell], 1864.

THE HAUNCH OF VENISON.

It is supposed that this poem was written early in 1771, although it
was not printed until 1776, when it was published by G. Kearsly and J.
Ridley under the title of The Haunch of Venison, a Poetical Epistle to
the Lord Clare. By the late Dr. Goldsmith. With a Head of the Author,
Drawn by Henry Bunbury, Esq; and Etched by [James] Bretherton. A second
edition, the text of which is here followed, appeared in the same year
'With considerable Additions and Corrections, Taken from the Author's
last Transcript.' The Lord Clare to whom the verses are addressed was
Robert Nugent, of Carlanstown, Westmeath, M.P. for St. Mawes in 1741-54.
In 1766 he was created Viscount Clare; in 1776 Earl Nugent. In his youth
he had himself been an easy if not very original versifier; and there
are several of his performances in the second volume of Dodsley's
Collection of Poems by Several Hands, 4th ed., 1755. One of the
Epistles, beginning 'Clarinda, dearly lov'd, attend The Counsels of a
faithful friend,' seems to have betrayed Goldsmith into the blunder
of confusing it, in the Poems for Young Ladies. 1767, p. 114, with
Lyttelton's better-known Advice to a Lady ('The counsels of

page 237



a friend, Belinda, hear'), also in Dodsley's miscellany; while another
piece, an Ode to William Pultney, Esq., contains a stanza so good that
Gibbon worked it into his character of Brutus:

What tho' the good, the brave, the wise, With adverse force undaunted
rise, To break th' eternal doom! Tho' CATO liv'd, tho' TULLY spoke, Tho'
BRUTUS dealt the godlike stroke, Yet perish'd fated ROME.

Detraction, however, has insinuated that Mallet, his step-son's tutor,
was Nugent's penholder in this instance. 'Mr. Nugent sure did not write
his own Ode,' says Gray to Walpole (Gray's Works, by Gosse, 1884, ii.
220). Earl Nugent died in Dublin in October, 1788, and was buried at
Gosfield in Essex, a property he had acquired with his second wife. A
Memoir of him was written in 1898 by Mr. Claud Nugent. He is described
by Cunningham as 'a big, jovial, voluptuous Irishman, with a loud voice,
a strong Irish accent, and a ready though coarse wit.' According to
Percy (Memoir, 1801, p. 66), he had been attracted to Goldsmith by the
publication of The Traveller in 1764, and he mentioned him favourably to
the Earl of Northumberland, then Lord Lieutenant of Ireland. A note
in Forster's Life, 1871, ii. 329-30, speaks of Goldsmith as a frequent
visitor at Gosfield, and at Nugent's house in Great George Street,
Westminster, where he had often for playmate his host's daughter, Mary,
afterwards Marchioness of Buckingham.

Scott and others regarded The Haunch of Venison as autobiographical. To
what extent this is the case, it is difficult to say. That it represents
the actual thanks of the poet to Lord Clare for an actual present of
venison, part of which he promptly transferred to Reynolds, is probably
the fact. But, as the following notes show, it is also clear that
Goldsmith borrowed, if not his entire fable, at least some of its
details from Boileau's third satire; and that, in certain of the lines,
he had in memory Swift's Grand Question Debated, the measure of which he
adopts. This throws more than a doubt upon the truth of the whole. 'His
genius' (as Hazlitt says) 'was a mixture of originality and imitation';
and fact and fiction often mingle inseparably

page 238



in his work. The author of the bailiff scene in the Good Natur'd Man
was quite capable of inventing for the nonce the tragedy of the
unbaked pasty, or of selecting from the Pilkingtons and Purdons of his
acquaintance such appropriate guests for his Mile End Amphitryon as the
writers of the Snarler and the Scourge. It may indeed even be doubted
whether, if The Haunch of Venison had been absolute personal history,
Goldsmith would ever have retailed it to his noble patron at Gosfield,
although it may include enough of real experience to serve as the basis
for a jeu d'esprit.

The fat was so white, etc. The first version reads'The white was so
white, and the red was so ruddy.'

Though my stomach was sharp, etc. This couplet is not in the first
version.

One gammon of bacon. Prior compared a passage from Goldsmith's Animated
Nature, 1774, iii. 9, à propos of a similar practice in Germany,
Poland, and Switzerland. 'A piece of beef,' he says, 'hung up there,
is considered as an elegant piece of furniture, which, though seldom
touched, at least argues the possessor's opulence and ease.'

a bounce, i.e. a braggart falsehood. Steele, in No. 16 of The Lover,
1715, p. 110, says of a manifest piece of brag, 'But this is supposed to
be only a Bounce.'

Mr. Byrne, spelled 'Burn' in the earlier editions, was a relative of
Lord Clare.

Mr's. MONROE's in the first version. 'Dorothy Monroe,' says
Bolton Corney, 'whose various charms are celebrated in verse by Lord
Townshend.'

There's Hd, and Cy, and Hrth, and Hff. In the first version
'There's COLEY, and WILLIAMS, and HOWARD, and HIFF.'Hiff was Paul
Hiffernan, M.B., 1719-77, a Grub Street author and practitioner. Bolton
Corney hazards some conjectures as to the others; but Cunningham wisely
passes them over.

Hggns. Perhaps, suggests Bolton Corney, this was the Captain Higgins
who assisted at Goldsmith's absurd 'fracas' with Evans the bookseller,
upon the occasion of Kenrick's letter in The London Packet for March
24, 1773. Other accounts, however, state that his companion was Captain
Horneck (Prior, Life, 1837, ii. 411-12). This couplet is not in the
first version.

page 239



Such dainties to them, etc. The first version reads:

Such dainties to them! It would look like a flirt, Like sending 'em
Ruffles when wanting a Shirt.

Cunningham quotes a similar idea from T. Brown's Laconics, Works, 1709,
iv. 14. 'To treat a poor wretch with a bottle of Burgundy, or fill his
snuff-box, is like giving a pair of lace ruffles to a man that has
never a shirt on his back.' But Goldsmith, as was his wont, had already
himself employed the same figure. 'Honours to one in my situation,' he
says in a letter to his brother Maurice, in January, 1770, when speaking
of his appointment as Professor of Ancient History to the Royal Academy,
'are something like ruffles to a man that wants a shirt' (Percy Memoir,
1801, 87-8). His source was probably, not Brown's Laconics, but those
French 'ana' he knew so well. According to M. J. J. Jusserand (English
Essays from a French Pen, 1895, pp. 160-1), the originator of this
conceit was M. Samuel de Sorbieres, the traveller in England who was
assailed by Bishop Sprat. Considering himself inadequately rewarded
by his patrons, Mazarin, Louis XIV, and Pope Clement IX, he said
bitterly'They give lace cuffs to a man without a shirt'; a 'consolatory
witticism' which he afterwards remodelled into, 'I wish they would send
me bread for the butter they kindly provided me with.' In this form it
appears in the Preface to the Sorberiana, Toulouse, 1691.

a flirt is a jibe or jeer. 'He would sometimes . . . cast out a jesting
flirt at me.' (Morley's History of Thomas Ellwood, 1895, p. 104.) Swift
also uses the word.

An under-bred, fine-spoken fellow, etc. The first version reads

A fine-spoken Custom-house Officer he, Who smil'd as he gaz'd on the
Ven'son and me.

but I hate ostentation. Cf. Beau Tibbs:'She was bred, but that's
between ourselves, under the inspection of the Countess of All- night.'
(Citizen of the World, 1762, i. 238.)

We'll have Johnson, and Burke. Cf. Boileau, Sat. iii. ll. 25-6, which
Goldsmith had in mind:

Molière avec Tartufe y doit jouer son rôle, Et Lambert, qui plus est,
m'a donné sa parole.

page 240



What say youa pasty? It shall, and it must. The first version reads

I'll take no denialyou shall, and you must.

Mr. J. H. Lobban, Goldsmith, Select Poems, 1900, notes a hitherto
undetected similarity between this and the 'It must, and it shall be a
barrack, my life' of Swift's Grand Question Debated. See also ll. 56 and
91.

No stirring, I begmy dear friendmy dear friend. In the first edition

No words, my dear GOLDSMITH! my very good Friend!

Mr. Lobban compares:

'Good morrow, good captain.' 'I'll wait on you down,' 'You shan't stir
a foot.' 'You'll think me a clown.'

'And nobody with me at sea but myself.' This is almost a textual
quotation from one of the letters of Henry Frederick, Duke of
Cumberland, to Lady Grosvenor, a correspondence which in 1770 gave great
delight to contemporary caricaturists and scandal-mongers. Other poets
besides Goldsmith seem to have been attracted by this particular lapse
of his illiterate Royal Highness, since it is woven into a ballad
printed in The Public Advertiser for August 2 in the above year:

The Miser who wakes in a Fright for his Pelf, And finds no one by him
except his own Self, etc.

When come to the place, etc. Cf. Boileau, ut supra, ll. 31-4:

A peine étais-je entré, que ravi de me voir, Mon homme, en m'embrassant,
m'est venu recevoir; Et montrant à mes yeux une allégresse entière, Nous
n'avons, m'a-t-il dit, ni Lambert ni Molière.

Lambert the musician, it may be added, had the special reputation of
accepting engagements which he never kept.

and t'other with Thrale. Henry Thrale, the Southwark brewer, and the
husband of Mrs. Thrale, afterwards Mrs. Piozzi. Johnson first made
his acquaintance in 1765. Strahan complained to Boswell that, by this
connexion, Johnson 'was in a great measure absorbed from the society of
his old friends.'

page 241



(Birkbeck Hill's Boswell, 1887, iii. 225.) Line 72 in the first edition
reads

The one at the House, and the other with THRALE.

They both of them merry and authors like you. 'They' should apparently
be 'they're.' The first version reads

Who dabble and write in the Paperslike you.

Some think he writes Cinnahe owns to Panurge. 'Panurge' and 'Cinna'
are signatures which were frequently to be found at the foot of letters
addressed to the Public Advertiser in 1770-1 in support of Lord Sandwich
and the Government. They are said to have been written by Dr. W. Scott,
Vicar of Simonburn, Northumberland, and chaplain of Greenwich Hospital,
both of which preferments had been given him by Sandwich. In 1765 he had
attacked Lord Bute and his policy over the signature of 'Anti-Sejanus.'
'Sandwich and his parson Anti-Sejanus [are] hooted off the stage'writes
Walpole to Mann, March 21, 1766. According to Prior, it was Scott who
visited Goldsmith in his Temple chambers, and invited him to 'draw a
venal quill' for Lord North's administration. Goldsmith's noble answer,
as reported by his reverend friend, was'I can earn as much as will
supply my wants without writing for any party; the assistance therefore
you offer is unnecessary to me.' (Life, 1837, ii. 278.) There is
a caricature portrait of Scott at p. 141 of The London Museum for
February, 1771, entitled 'Twitcher's Advocate,' 'Jemmy Twitcher' being
the nickname of Lord Sandwich.

Swinging, great, huge. 'Bishop Lowth has just finished the Dramas, and
sent me word, that although I have paid him the most swinging compliment
he ever received, he likes the whole book more than he can say.'
(Memoirs of Hannah More, 1834, i. 236.)

pasty. The first version has Ven'son.'

So there I sat, etc. This couplet is not in the first version.

And, 'Madam,' quoth he. Mr. Lobban again quotes Swift's Grand Question
Debated:

And 'Madam,' says he, 'if such dinners you give You'll ne'er want for
parsons as long as you live.'

page 242



These slight resemblances, coupled with the more obvious likeness of
the 'Raphaels, Correggios, and stuff' of Retaliation (ll. 145-6) to
the Noueds and Bluturks and Omurs and stuff' (also pointed out by
Mr. Lobban) are interesting, because they show plainly that Goldsmith
remembered the works of Swift far better than The New Bath Guide, which
has sometimes been supposed to have set the tune to the Haunch and
Retaliation.

'may this bit be my poison.' The gentleman in She Stoops to Conquer, Act
i, who is 'obligated to dance a bear.' Uses the same asseveration. Cf.
also Squire Thornhill's somewhat similar formula in chap. vii of The
Vicar of Wakefield, 1766, i. 59.

'The tripe,' quoth the Jew, etc. The first version reads

'Your Tripe!' quoth the Jew, 'if the truth I may speak, I could eat of
this Tripe seven days in the week.'

Re-echoed, i.e. 'returned' in the first edition.

thot. This, probably by a printer's error, is altered to 'that' in the
second version. But the first reading is the more in keeping, besides
being a better rhyme.

Wak'd Priam. Cf. 2 Henry IV, Act I, Sc. 1:

Even such a man, so faint, so spiritless, So dull, so dead in look, so
woe-begone, Drew Priam's curtain in the dead of night. And would have
told him half his Troy was burnt.

sicken'd over by learning. Cf. Hamlet, Act iii, Sc. 1:

And thus the native hue of resolution Is sicklied o'er with the pale
cast of thought.

Notwithstanding the condemnation of Shakespeare in the Present State
of Polite Learning, and elsewhere, Goldsmith frequently weaves
Shakespearean recollections into his work. Cf. She Stoops to Conquer,
1773, Act i, p. 13, 'We wanted no ghost to tell us that' (Hamlet, Act i,
Sc. 5); and Act i, p. 9, where he uses Falstaff's words (1 Henry IV, Act
v, Sc. 1):

Would it were bed-time and all were well.

as very well known. The first version has, ''tis very well known.'

page 243



EPITAPH ON THOMAS PARNELL.

This epitaph, apparently never used, was published with The Haunch of
Venison, 1776; and is supposed to have been written about 1770. In that
year Goldsmith wrote a Life of Thomas Parnell, D.D., to accompany an
edition of his poems, printed for Davies of Russell Street. Parnell was
born in 1679, and died at Chester in 1718, on his way to Ireland. He was
buried at Trinity Church in that town, on the 24th of October. Goldsmith
says that his father and uncle both knew Parnell (Life of Parnell, 1770,
p. v), and that he received assistance from the poet's nephew, Sir
John Parnell, the singing gentleman who figures in Hogarth's Election
Entertainment. Why Goldsmith should write an epitaph upon a man who died
ten years before his own birth, is not easy to explain. But Johnson
also wrote a Latin one, which he gave to Boswell. (Birkbeck Hill's Life,
1887, iv. 54.)

gentle Parnell's name. Mitford compares Pope on Parnell [Epistle to
Harley, l. iv]:

With softest manners, gentlest Arts adorn'd.

Pope published Parnell's Poems in 1722, and his sending them to Harley,
Earl of Oxford, after the latter's disgrace and retirement, was the
occasion of the foregoing epistle, from which the following lines
respecting Parnell may also be cited:

For him, thou oft hast bid the World attend, Fond to forget the
statesman in the friend; For SWIFT and him despis'd the farce of state,
The sober follies of the wise and great; Dext'rous the craving, fawning
crowd to quit, And pleas'd to 'scape from Flattery to Wit.

his sweetly-moral lay. Cf. The Hermit, the Hymn to Contentment, the
Night Piece on Deathwhich Goldsmith certainly recalled in his own City
Night- Piece. Of the last-named Goldsmith says (Life of Parnell, 1770,
p. xxxii), not without an obvious side-stroke at Gray's too-popular
Elegy, that it 'deserves every praise, and I should suppose with very
little amendment, might be made to surpass all those night pieces and
church yard scenes that have since appeared.' This is certainly (as
Longfellow sings) to

rustling hear in every breeze The laurels of Miltiades.

page 244



Of Parnell, Hume wrote (Essays, 1770, i. 244) that 'after the fiftieth
reading; [he] is as fresh as at the first.' But Gray (speakingit should
be explainedof a dubious volume of his posthumous works) said: 'Parnell
is the dung-hill of Irish Grub Street' (Gosse's Gray's Works, 1884, ii.
372). Meanwhile, it is his fate to-day to be mainly remembered by three
words (not always attributed to him) in a couplet from what Johnson
styled 'perhaps the meanest' of his performances, the Elegy to an Old
Beauty:

And all that's madly wild, or oddly gay, We call it only pretty Fanny's
way.


THE CLOWN'S REPLY.

This, though dated 'Edinburgh 1753,' was first printed in Poems and
Plays, 1777, p. 79.

John Trott is a name for a clown or commonplace character. Miss
Burney (Diary, 1904, i. 222) says of Dr. Delap:'As to his person and
appearance, they are much in the John-trot style.' Foote, Chesterfield,
and Walpole use the phrase; Fielding Scotticizes it into 'John
Trott-Plaid, Esq.'; and Bolingbroke employs it as a pseudonym.

I shall ne'er see your graces. 'I shall never see a Goose again without
thinking on Mr. Neverout,'says the 'brilliant Miss Notable' in Swift's
Polite Conversation, 1738, p. 156.


EPITAPH ON EDWARD PURDON.

The occasion of this quatrain, first published as Goldsmith's* in Poems
and Plays, 1777, p. 79, is to be found in Forster's Life and Times
of Oliver Goldsmith, 1871, ii. 60. Purdon died on March 27, 1767
(Gentleman's Magazine, April, 1767, p. 192). '"Dr. Goldsmith made this
epitaph," says William Ballantyne [the author of Mackliniana], "in his
way from his chambers in the Temple to the Wednesday evening's club at
the Globe. I think he will never come back, I believe he said. I was

*It had previously appeared as an extempore by a correspondent in the
Weekly Magazine, Edin., August 12, 1773 (Notes and Queries, February 14,
1880).

page 245



sitting by him, and he repeated it more than twice. (I think he will
never come back.)"' Purdon had been at Trinity College, Dublin, with
Goldsmith; he had subsequently been a foot soldier; ultimately he became
a 'bookseller's hack.' He wrote an anonymous letter to Garrick in 1759,
and translated the Henriade of Voltaire. This translation Goldsmith
is supposed to have revised, and his own life of Voltaire was to have
accompanied it, though finally the Memoir and Translation seem to have
appeared separately. (Cf. prefatory note to Memoirs of M. de Voltaire in
Gibbs's Works of Oliver Goldsmith, 1885, iv. 2.)

Forster says further, in a note, 'The original . . . is the epitaph on
"La Mort du Sieur Etienne":

Il est au bout de ses travaux, Il a passé, le Sieur Etienne; En ce monde
il eut tant des maux Qu'on ne croit pas qu'il revienne.

With this perhaps Goldsmith was familiar, and had therefore less scruple
in laying felonious hands on the epigram in the Miscellanies (Swift,
xiii. 372):

Well, then, poor G lies underground! So there's an end of honest Jack.
So little justice here he found, 'Tis ten to one he'll ne'er come back.'

Mr. Forster's 'felonious hands' recalls a passage in Goldsmith's Life
of Parnell, 1770, in which, although himself an habitual sinner in this
way, he comments gravely upon the practice of plagiarism:'It was the
fashion with the wits of the last age, to conceal the places from whence
they took their hints or their subjects. A trifling acknowledgment would
have made that lawful prize, which may now be considered as plunder' (p.
xxxii).


EPILOGUE FOR LEE LEWES'S BENEFIT.

This benefit took place at Covent Garden on May 7, 1773, the pieces
performed being Rowe's Lady Jane Grey, and a popular pantomimic after-
piece by Theobald, called Harlequin Sorcerer, Charles Lee Lewes (1740-
1803) was the original 'Young Marlow' of She Stoops to Conquer. When
that part was thrown up by

page 246



'Gentleman' Smith, Shuter, the 'Mr. Hardcastle' of the comedy, suggested
Lewes, who was the harlequin of the theatre, as a substitute, and the
choice proved an admirable one. Goldsmith was highly pleased with his
performance, and in consequence wrote for him this epilogue. It was
first printed by Evans, 1780, i. 112-4.

in thy black aspect, i.e. the half-mask of harlequin, in which character
the Epilogue was spoken.

rosined lightning, stage- lightning, in which rosin is an ingredient.


EPILOGUE INTENDED FOR 'SHE STOOPS TO CONQUER.'

This epilogue was first printed at pp. 82-6, vol. ii, of the
Miscellaneous Works of 1801. Bolton Corney says it had been given to
Percy by Goldsmith. It is evidently the 'quarrelling Epilogue' referred
to in the following letter from Goldsmith to Cradock (Miscellaneous
Memoirs, 1826, i. 225-6):

'MY DEAR SIR, The Play [She Stoops to Conquer] has met with a success
much beyond your expectations or mine. I thank you sincerely for your
Epilogue, which, however could not be used, but with your permission,
shall be printed.* The story in short is this; Murphy sent me rather the
outline of an Epilogue than an Epilogue, which was to be sung by Mrs.
Catley, and which she approved. Mrs. Bulkley hearing this, insisted on
throwing up her part, unless according to the custom of the theatre, she
were permitted to speak the Epilogue. In this embarrassment I thought
of making a quarrelling Epilogue between Catley and her, debating who
should speak the Epilogue, but then Mrs. Catley refused, after I had
taken the trouble of drawing it out. I was then at a loss indeed; an
Epilogue was to be made, and for none but Mrs. Bulkley. I made one, and
Colman thought it too bad to be spoken; I was obliged therefore to try
a fourth time, and I made a very mawkish thing, as you'll shortly see.
Such is the history of my Stage adventures, and which I have at last
done with. I cannot help saying that I am very sick of the

*It is so printed with the note'This came too late to be Spoken.'

page 247



stage; and though I believe I shall get three tolerable benefits, yet I
shall upon the whole be a loser, even in a pecuniary light; my ease and
comfort I certainly lost while it was in agitation.

I am, my dear Cradock, your obliged, and obedient servant, OLIVER
GOLDSMITH.

P.S.Present my most humble respects to Mrs. Cradock.'

According to Prior (Miscellaneous Works, 1837, iv. 154), Goldsmith's
friend, Dr. Farr, had a copy of this epilogue which still, when Prior
wrote, remained in that gentleman's family.

Who mump their passion, i.e. grimace their passion.

ye macaroni train. The Macaronies were the foplings, fribbles, or beaux
of Goldsmith's day. Walpole refers to them as early as 1764; but their
flourishing time was 1770-3, when the print-shops, and especially
Matthew Darly's in the Strand, No. 39, swarmed with satirical designs
of which they were the subject. Selwyn, Marchmany well-known namesare
found in their ranks. Richard Cosway figured as 'The Macaroni Painter';
Angelica Kauffmann as 'The Paintress of Maccaroni's'; Thrale as 'The
Southwark Macaroni.' Another caricature ('The Fluttering Macaroni')
contains a portrait of Miss Catley, the singing actress of the present
epilogue; while Charles Horneck, the brother of 'The Jessamy Bride' (see
p. 251, l. 14) is twice satirized as 'The Martial Macaroni' and 'The
Military Macaroni.' The name, as may be guessed, comes from the Italian
dish first made fashionable by the 'Macaroni Club,' being afterwards
applied by extension to 'the younger and gayer part of our nobility
and gentry, who, at the same time that they gave in to the luxuries of
eating, went equally into the extravagancies of dress.' (Macaroni and
Theatrical Magazine, Oct. 1772.) Cf. Sir Benjamin Backbite's later
epigram in The School for Scandal, 1777, Act ii, Sc. 2:

Sure never was seen two such beautiful ponies; Other horses are clowns,
but these macaronies: To give them this title I'm sure can't be wrong,
Their legs are so slim and their tails are so long.

Their hands are only lent to the Heinel. See note to l. 28, p. 85.

page 248



EPILOGUE INTENDED FOR 'SHE STOOPS TO CONQUER.'

This epilogue, given by Goldsmith to Dr. Percy in MS., was first
published in the Miscellaneous Works of 1801, ii. 87-8, as An Epilogue
intended for Mrs. Bulkley. Percy did not remember for what play it was
intended; but it is plainly (see note to l. 40) the second epilogue for
She Stoops to Conquer referred to in the letter printed in this volume.

There is a place, so Ariosto sings. 'The poet alludes to the
thirty-fourth canto of The Orlando furioso. Ariosto, as translated by
Mr. Stewart Rose, observes of the lunar world;

There thou wilt find, if thou wilt thither post, Whatever thou on earth
beneath hast lost.

Astolpho undertakes the journey; discovers a portion of his own sense;
and, in an ample flask, the lost wits of Orlando.' (Bolton Corney.) Cf.
also Rape of the Lock, Canto v, ll. 113-14:

Some thought it mounted to the Lunar sphere, Since all things lost on
earth are treasur'd there.

Lord Chesterfield also refers to the 'happy extravagancy' of Astolpho's
journey in his Letters, 1774, i. 557.

at Foote's Alone. 'Foote's' was the Little Theatre in the Haymarket,
where, in February, 1773, he brought out what he described as a
'Primitive Puppet Show,' based upon the Italian Fantoccini, and
presenting a burlesque sentimental Comedy called The Handsome Housemaid;
or, Piety in Pattens, which did as much as She Stoops to laugh false
sentiment away. Foote warned his audience that they would not discover
'much wit or humour' in the piece, since 'his brother writers had all
agreed that it was highly improper, and beneath the dignity of a mixed
assembly, to show any signs of joyful satisfaction; and that creating a
laugh was forcing the higher order of an audience to a vulgar and mean
use of their muscles'for which reason, he explained, he had, like them,
given up the sensual for the sentimental style. And thereupon followed
the story of a maid of low degree who, 'by the mere effects of morality
and virtue, raised herself [like Richardson's Pamela], to riches and
honours.' The

page 249



public, who for some time had acquiesced in the new order of things
under the belief that it tended to the reformation of the stage, and who
were beginning to weary of the 'moral essay thrown into dialogue,' which
had for some time supplanted humorous situation, promptly came round
under the influence of Foote's Aristophanic ridicule, and the comédie
larmoyante received an appreciable check. Goldsmith himself had prepared
the way in a paper contributed to the Westminster Magazine for December,
1772 (vol. i. p. 4), with the title of 'An Essay on the Theatre; or,
A Comparison between Laughing and Sentimental Comedy.' The specific
reference in the Prologue is to the fact that Foote gave morning
performances of The Handsome Housemaid. There was one, for instance, on
Saturday, March 6, 1773.

The Mohawk. This particular species of the genus 'rake' belongs more to
Swift's than Goldsmith's time, though the race is eternal. There is an
account of the 'Mohock Club' in Spectator, No. 324. See also Spectator,
No. 347; Gay's Trivia, 1716, Book iii. p. 74; Swift's Journal to Stella,
March 8 and 26, 1712; and the Wentworth Papers, 1883, pp. 277- 8.

Still stoops among the low to copy nature. This line, one would think,
should have helped to convince Percy that the epilogue was intended for
She Stoops to Conquer, and for no other play.


THE CAPTIVITY.

The Oratorio of the Captivity was written in 1764; but never set to
music. It was first printed in 1820 at pp. 451-70 of vol. ii of the
octavo edition of the Miscellaneous Works issued by the trade in
that year. Prior reprinted it in 1837 (Works, iv. Pp. 79-95) from the
'original manuscript' in Mr. Murray's possession; and Cunningham again
in 1854 (Works, i. pp. 63-76). It is here reproduced from Prior. James
Dodsley, who bought the MS. for Newbery and himself, gave Goldsmith ten
guineas. Murray's copy was the one made for Dodsley, October 31, 1764;
the one printed in 1820, that made for Newbery. The latter, which once
belonged to the autograph collector, William Upcott, was in the market
in 1887.

AIR. Act i. This song had been published in the first edition

page 250



of The Haunch of Venison, 1776, with the second stanza varied thus:

Thou, like the world, th' opprest oppressing, Thy smiles increase the
wretch's woe' And he who wants each other blessing, In thee must ever
find a foe.

AIR. Act ii. This song also had appeared in the first edition of The
Haunch of Venison, 1776, in a different form:

The Wretch condemn'd with life to part, Still, still on Hope relies; And
ev'ry pang that rends the heart, Bids Expectation rise.

Hope, like the glim'ring taper's light, Adorns and chears the way; And
still, as darker grows the night, Emits a brighter ray.

Mitford, who printed The Captivity from Newbery's version, records a
number of 'first thoughts' afterwards altered or improved by the author
in his MS. Modern editors have not reproduced them, and their example
has been followed here. The Captivity is not, in any sense, one of
Goldsmith's important efforts.


VERSES IN REPLY TO AN INVITATION TO DINNER.

These were first published in the Miscellaneous Works of 1837, iv. 132-
3, having been communicated to the editor by Major-General Sir H. E.
Bunbury, Bart., the son of Henry William Bunbury, the well-known comic
artist, and husband of Catherine Horneck, the 'Little Comedy' to whom
Goldsmith refers. Dr. Baker, to whose house the poet was invited,
was Dr. (afterwards Sir George) Baker, 1722-1809. He was Sir Joshua's
doctor; and in 1776 became physician to George III, whom he attended
during his illness of 1788-9. He is often mentioned by Fanny Burney and
Hannah More.

Horneck, i.e. Mrs. Hannah Horneckthe 'Plymouth Beauty'widow of Captain
Kane William Horneck, grandson

page 251



of Dr. Anthony Horneck of the Savoy, mentioned in Evelyn's Diary,
for whose Happy Ascetick, 1724, Hogarth designed a frontispiece.
Mrs. Horneck died in 1803. Like Sir Joshua, the Hornecks came from
Devonshire; and through him, had made the acquaintance of Goldsmith.

Nesbitt. Mr. Nesbitt was the husband of one of Mr. Thrale's handsome
sisters. He was a member of the Devonshire Club, and twice (1759-61) sat
to Reynolds, with whom he was intimate. He died in 1779, and his widow
married a Mr. Scott.

Kauffmann. Angelica Kauffmann, the artist, 1741-1807. She had come
to London in 1766. At the close of 1767 she had been cajoled into a
marriage with an impostor, Count de Horn, and had separated from him
in 1768. In 1769 she painted a 'weak and uncharacteristic' portrait of
Reynolds for Mr. Parker of Saltram (afterwards Baron Boringdon), which
is now in the possession of the Earl of Morley. It was exhibited at the
Royal Academy in the winter of 1876, and is the portrait referred to at
l. 44 below.

the Jessamy Bride. This was Goldsmith's pet- name for Mary, the elder
Miss Horneck. After Goldsmith's death she married Colonel F. E. Gwyn
(1779). She survived until 1840. 'Her own picture with a turban,'
painted by Reynolds, was left to her in his will (Works by Malone,
2nd ed., 1798, p. cxviii). She was also painted by Romney and Hoppner.
'Jessamy,' or 'jessimy,' with its suggestion of jasmine flowers,
seems in eighteenth-century parlance to have stood for 'dandified,'
'superfine,' 'delicate,' and the whole name was probably coined after
the model of some of the titles to Darly's prints, then common in all
the shops.

The Reynoldses two, i.e. Sir Joshua and his sister, Miss Reynolds.

Little Comedy's face. 'Little Comedy' was Goldsmith's name for the
younger Miss Horneck, Catherine, and already engaged to H. W. Bunbury
(v. supra), to whom she was married in 1771. She died in 1799, and had
also been painted by Reynolds.

the Captain in lace. This was Charles Horneck, Mrs. Horneck's son, an
officer in the Foot-guards. He afterwards became a general, and died in
1804. (See note, p. 247, l. 31.)

page 252



to-day's Advertiser. The lines referred to are said by Prior to have
been as follows:

While fair Angelica, with matchless grace, Paints Conway's lovely form
and Stanhope's face; Our hearts to beauty willing homage pay, We praise,
admire, and gaze our souls away. But when the likeness she hath done for
thee, O Reynolds! with astonishment we see, Forced to submit, with all
our pride we own, Such strength, such harmony, excell'd by none, And
thou art rivall'd by thyself alone.

They probably appeared in the newspaper at some date between 1769,
when the picture was painted, and August 1771, when 'Little Comedy' was
married, after which time Goldsmith would scarcely speak of her except
as 'Mrs. Bunbury' (see p. 132, l. 15).


LETTER IN PROSE AND VERSE TO MRS. BUNBURY.

This letter, which contains some of the brightest and easiest of
Goldsmith's familiar verses, was addressed to Mrs. Bunbury (the 'Little
Comedy' of the Verses in Reply to an Invitation to Dinner, pp. 250- 2),
in answer to a rhymed summons on her part to spend Christmas at Great
Barton in Suffolk, the family seat of the Bunburys. It was first printed
by Prior in the Miscellaneous Works of 1837, iv. 148-51, and again in
1838 in Sir Henry Bunbury's Correspondence of Sir Thomas Hanmer, Bart.,
pp. 379-83. The text of the latter issue is here followed. When Prior
published the verses, they were assigned to the year 1772; in the Hanmer
Correspondence it is stated that they were 'probably written in 1773 or
1774.'

your spring velvet coat. Goldsmith's pronounced taste in dress, and his
good- natured simplicity, made his costume a fertile subject for playful
raillery,sometimes, for rather discreditable practical jokes. (See next
note.)

a wig, that is modish and gay. 'He always wore a wig'said the 'Jessamy
Bride' in her reminiscences to Prior'a peculiarity

page 253



which those who judge of his appearance only from the fine poetical
head of Reynolds, would not suspect; and on one occasion some person
contrived to seriously injure this important adjunct to dress. It
was the only one he had in the country, and the misfortune seemed
irreparable until the services of Mr. Bunbury's valet were called
in, who however performed his functions so indifferently that poor
Goldsmith's appearance became the signal for a general smile' (Prior's
Life, 1837, ii. 378-9).

Naso contemnere adunco. Cf. Horace, Sat. i. 6. 5:

naso suspendis adunco Ignotos,

and Martial, Ep. i. 4. 6:

Et pueri nasum Rhinocerotis habent.

Loo, i.e. Lanctre- or Lanterloo, a popular eighteenth-century game, in
which Pam, l. 6, the knave of clubs, is the highest card. Cf. Pope, Rape
of the Lock, 1714, iii. 61:

Ev'n might Pam, that Kings and Queens o'erthrew, And mow'd down armies
in the fights of Lu;

and Colman's epilogue to The School for Scandal, 1777:

And at backgammon mortify my soul, That pants for loo, or flutters at a
vole?

Miss Horneck. Miss Mary Horneck, the 'Jessamy Bride' vide note, p. 251,
l. 14).

Fielding. Sir John Fielding, d. 1780, Henry Fielding's blind
half-brother, who succeeded him as a Justice of the Peace for the City
and Liberties of Westminster. He was knighted in 1761. There are two
portraits of him by Nathaniel Hone.

by quinto Elizabeth, Death without Clergy. Legal authorities affirm that
the Act quoted should be 8 Eliz. cap. iv, under which those who stole
more than twelvepence 'privately from a man's person' were debarred from
benefit of clergy. But 'quint. Eliz.' must have offered some special
attraction to poets, since Pope also refers to it in the Satires and
Epistles, i. 147-8:

page 254



Consult the Statute: quart. I think, it is, Edwardi sext. or prim. et
quint. Eliz.

With bunches of fennel, and nosegays before 'em. This was a custom
dating from the fearful jail fever of 1750, which carried off, not
only prisoners, but a judge (Mr. Justice Abney) 'and many jurymen and
witnesses.' 'From that time up to this day [i.e. 1855] it has been
usual to place sweet-smelling herbs in the prisoner's dock, to prevent
infection.' (Lawrence's Life of Henry Fielding, 1855, p. 296.) The
close observation of Cruikshank has not neglected this detail in the Old
Bailey plate of The Drunkard's Children, 1848, v.

mobs. The mob was a loose undress or dèshabillè, sometimes a hood. 'When
we poor souls had presented ourselves with a contrition suitable to
our worthlessness, some pretty young ladies in mobs, popped in here
and there about the church.' (Guardian, No. 65, May 26, 1713.) Cf. also
Addison's 'Fine Lady's Diary' (Spectator, No. 323); 'Went in our Mobbs
to the Dumb Man' (Duncan Campbell).

yon solemn- faced. Cf. Introduction, p. xxvii. According to the 'Jessamy
Bride,' Goldsmith sometimes aggravated his plainness by an 'assumed
frown of countenance' (Prior, Life, 1837, ii. 379).

Sir Charles, i.e. Sir Thomas Charles Bunbury, Bart., M. P., Henry
Bunbury's elder brother. He succeeded to the title in 1764, and died
without issue in 1821. Goldsmith, it may be observed, makes 'Charles' a
disyllable. Probably, like many of his countrymen, he so pronounced it.
(Cf. Thackeray's Pendennis, 1850, vol. ii, chap. 5 [or xliii], where
this is humorously illustrated in Captain Costigan's 'Sir Chorlus, I
saw your neem at the Levee.' Perhaps this accounts for 'failing'
and 'stealing,''day on' and 'Pantheon,' in the ^New Simile^. Cooke
(European Magazine, October, 1793, p. 259) says that Goldsmith 'rather
cultivated (than endeavoured to get rid of) his brogue.'

dy'd in grain, i.e. fixed, ineradicable. To 'dye in grain' means
primarily to colour with the scarlet or purple dye produced by the
kermes insect, called granum in Latin, from its similarity to small
seeds. Being what is styled a 'fast' dye the phrase is used by extension
to signify permanence.

page 255



VIDA'S GAME OF CHESS.

Forster thus describes the MS. of this poem in his Life of
Goldsmith:'It is a small quarto manuscript of thirty- four pages,
containing 679 lines, to which a fly-leaf is appended in which Goldsmith
notes the differences of nomenclature between Vida's chessmen and our
own. It has occasional interlineations and corrections, but such as
would occur in transcription rather than in a first or original copy.
Sometimes indeed choice appears to have been made (as at page 29)
between two words equally suitable to the sense and verse, as "to" for
"toward"; but the insertions and erasures refer almost wholly to words
or lines accidentally omitted and replaced. The triplet is always
carefully marked; and seldom as it is found in any other of Goldsmith's
poems. I am disposed to regard its frequent recurrence here as even
helping, in some degree, to explain the motive which had led him to the
trial of an experiment in rhyme comparatively new to him. If we suppose
him, half consciously, it may be, taking up the manner of the great
master of translation, Dryden, who was at all times so much a favourite
with him, he would at least, in so marked a peculiarity, be less apt to
fall short than to err perhaps a little on the side of excess. Though I
am far from thinking such to be the result in the present instance. The
effect of the whole translation is pleasing to me, and the mock-heroic
effect I think not a little assisted by the reiterated use of the
triplet and alexandrine. As to any evidence of authorship derivable
from the appearance of the manuscript, I will only add another word. The
lines in the translation have been carefully counted, and the number
is marked in Goldsmith's hand at the close of his transcription. Such a
fact is, of course, only to be taken in aid of other proof; but a man is
not generally at the pains of counting, still less, I should say in such
a case as Goldsmith's, of elaborately transcribing, lines which are not
his own.' (Forster's Goldsmith, 1871, ii. 235-6).

When Forster wrote the above, the MS. was in the possession of Mr.
Bolton Corney, who had not been aware of its existence when he edited
Goldsmith's Poems in 1845. In 1854 it was, with his permission, included
in vol. iv of Cunningham's Works of 1854, and subsequently in the Aldine
Poems of 1866.

page 256



Mark Jerome Vida of Cremona, 1490-1566, was Bishop of Alba, and
favourite of Leo the Magnificent. Several translators had tried their
hand at his Game of Chess before Goldsmith. Lowndes mentions Rowbotham,
1562; Jeffreys, 1736; Erskine, 1736; Pullin, 1750; and Anon. (Eton),
1769 (who may have preceded Goldsmith). But after his (Goldsmith's)
death appeared another Oxford anonymous version, 1778, and one by Arthur
Murphy, 1786.

The Captivity Appendix

Poetical Works of Goldsmith / / Notes /


page 257



APPENDIXES

PORTRAITS OF GOLDSMITH. DESCRIPTIONS OF NEWELL'S VIEWS OF LISSOY, ETC.
THE EPITHET 'SENTIMENTAL.' FRAGMENTS OF TRANSLATIONS, ETC. BY GOLDSMITH.
GOLDSMITH ON POETRY UNDER ANNE AND GEORGE THE FIRST. CRITICISMS FROM
GOLDSMITH'S 'BEAUTIES OF ENGLISH POESY.'

Oliver Goldsmith OLIVER GOLDSMITH (M. W. Bunbury)



page 259



APPENDIX A


PORTRAITS OF GOLDSMITH.

PORTRAITS of Goldsmith are not numerous; and the best known are those of
Reynolds and H. W. Bunbury. That by Sir Joshua was painted in 1766-70,
and exhibited in the Royal Academy (No. 151) from April 24th to May
28th in the latter year. It represents the poet in a plain white collar,
furred mantle open at the neck, and holding a book in his right
hand. Its general characteristics are given at p. xxviii of the
'Introduction.' It was scraped in mezzotint in 1770 by Reynolds's
Italian pupil, Giuseppe, or Joseph Marchi; and it is dated 1st
December.* Bunbury's portrait first appeared, after Goldsmith's death,
as a frontispiece to the Haunch of Venison; and it was etched in
facsimile by James Bretherton. The plate is dated May 24, 1776. In his
loyal but despotic Life of Goldsmith (Bk. iv, ch. 6), Mr. John Forster
reproduces these portraits side by side; in order, he professes, to show
'the distinction between truth and a caricature of it.' Bunbury, it may
be, was primarily a caricaturist, and possibly looked at most things
from a more or less grotesque point of view; but this sketchit should
be observedwas meant for a likeness, and we have the express testimony
of one who, if she was Bunbury's sister-in-law, was also Goldsmith's
friend, that it rendered Goldsmith accurately. It 'gives the head with
admirable fidelity'says the 'Jessamy Bride' (afterwards Mrs. Gwyn)'as
he actually lived among us; nothing can exceed its truth' (Prior's
Life, 1837, ii. 380). In other words, it delineates Goldsmith as his
contemporaries saw him, with bulbous

*This was the print to which Goldsmith referred in a well-known
anecdote. Speaking to his old Peckham pupil, Samuel Bishop, whom, after
many years, he met accidentally in London, he asked him eagerly whether
he had got an engraving of the new portrait, and finding he had not,
'said with some emotion, "if your picture had been published, I should
not have suffered an hour to elapse without procuring it."' But he was
speedily 'appeased by apologies.' (Prior's Life, 1837, i. 219- 20.)

page 260



forehead, indecisive chin, and long protruding upper lip,awkward,
insignificant, ill at ease,restlessly burning 'to get in and shine.'
It enables us moreover to understand how people who knew nothing of his
better and more lovable qualities, could speak of him as an 'inspired
idiot,' as 'silly Dr. Goldsmith,' as 'talking like poor Poll.' It is, in
short, his external, objective presentment. The picture by Sir Joshua,
on the contrary, is almost wholly subjective. Draped judiciously in
a popular studio costume, which is not that of the sitter's day, it
reveals to us the author of The Deserted Village as Reynolds conceived
him to be at his best, serious, dignified, introspective, with his
physical defects partly extenuated by art, partly over-mastered by his
intellectual power. To quote the 'Jessamy Bride' once moreit is 'a fine
poetical head for the admiration of posterity, but as it is divested of
his wig and with the shirt collar open, it was not the man as seen
in daily life' (Ib. ii. 380). Had Goldsmith lived in our era of
photography, photography would doubtless have given us something which
would have been neither the one nor the other, but more like Bunbury
than Reynolds. Yet we may be grateful for both. For Bunbury's sketch and
Reynolds's portrait are alike indispensable to the true comprehension of
Goldsmith's curiously dual personality.*

The portrait by Reynolds, above referred to, was painted for the Thrale
Gallery at Streatham, on the dispersion of which, in May, 1816, it was
bought for the Duke of Bedford for £133 7s. It is now at Woburn Abbey
(Cat. No. 254). At Knole, Lord Sackville possesses another version (Cat.
No. 239), which was purchased in 1773 by the Countess Delawarr, and was
shown at South Kensington in 1867. Here the dress is a black coat and
a brown mantle with fur. The present owner exhibited it at the Guelph
Exhibition of 1891. A third version, now in the Irish National Gallery,
once belonged to Goldsmith himself, and then to his brother-in- law,
Daniel Hodson. Finally there is a copy, by a pupil of Reynolds, in the
National Portrait Gallery, to which

*There is in existence another undated etching by Bretherton after
Bunbury on a larger scale, which comes much nearer to Reynolds; and it
is of course possible, though not in our opinion probable, that Mrs.
Gwyn may have referred to this. But Forster selected the other for his
comparison; it is prefixed to the Haunch of Venison; it is certainly the
better known; and (as we believe) cannot ever have been intended for a
caricature.

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Silhouette of Goldsmith SILHOUETTE OF GOLDSMITH (Ozias Humphry)

it was bequeathed in 1890 by Dr. Leifchild, having formerly been the
property of Caleb Whitefoord. Caleb Whitefoord also had an 'admirable
miniature' by Reynolds, which belongs to the Rev. Benjamin Whitefoord,
Hon. Canon of Salisbury (Whitefoord Papers, 1898, p. xxvii). A small
circular print, based upon Reynolds, and etched by James Basire, figures
on the title-page of Retaliation. Some of the plates are dated April 18,
1774.* The National Portrait Gallery has also a silhouette, attributed
to Ozias Humphry, R.A., which was presented in 1883 by Sir Theodore
Martin, K.C.B. Then there is the portrait by Hogarth shown at South
Kensington in 1867 by the late Mr. Studley Martin of Liverpool. It
depicts the poet writing at a round table in a black cap, claret-
 coat and ruffles. Of this there is a wood-cut in the later
editions of Forster's Life (Bk. iii, ch. 14). The same exhibition
of 1867 contained a portrait of Goldsmith in a brown coat and red
waistcoat, 'as a young man.' It was said to be extremely like him in
face, and was attributed to Gainsborough. In Evans's edition of the
Poetical and Dramatic Works is another portrait engraved by Cook, said,
on some copies, to be 'from an original drawing'; and there is in the
Print Room at the British Museum yet another portrait still, engraved
by William Ridley 'from a painting in the possession of the Rev. Mr.
Williams,' no doubt Goldsmith's friend, the Rev. David Williams, founder
of the Royal Literary Fund. One of these last may have been the work
to which the poet refers in a letter to his brother Maurice in January,
1770. 'I have sent my cousin Jenny [Jane Contarine] a miniature picture
of myself . . . The face you well know, is ugly enough, but it is finely
painted' (Misc. Works, 1801, p. 88).

In front of Dublin University is a bronze statue of Goldsmith by J. H.
Foley, R.A., erected in 1864. Of this there is a good engraving by
G. Stodart. On the memorial in Westminster Abbey erected in 1776 is a
medallion by Joseph Nollekens.

*There is also a sketch by Reynolds (?) at the British Museum.
Goldsmith's traditional ill-luck pursued him after death. During
some public procession in front of Trinity College, a number of
undergraduates climbed on the statue, with the result that the thin
metal of the poet's head was flattened or crushed in, requiring for its
readjustment very skilful restorative treatment. The Editor is indebted
for this item of information to the kindness of Mr. Percy Fitzgerald,
who was present at the subsequent operation.


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APPENDIX B


DESCRIPTIONS OF NEWELL'S VIEWS OF LISSOY, ETC.

In 1811, the Rev. R. H. Newell, B.D. and Fellow of St. John's College,
Cambridge, issued an edition of the Poetical Works of Goldsmith. The
distinctive feature of this lay in the fact that it was illustrated by
a number of aquatints 'by Mr. Alkin' (i.e. Samuel Alken), after drawings
made by Newell in 1806-9, and was accompanied by a series of 'Remarks,
attempting to ascertain, chiefly from local observation, the actual
scene of The Deserted Village.' Some quotations from these 'Remarks'
have already been made in the foregoing notes; but as copies of six of
the drawings are given in this volume, it may be well, in each case, to
reproduce Newell's 'descriptions.'


LISHOY, OR LISSOY MILL.

The west end of it, as seen from a field near the road; to the north the
country <DW72>s away in coarsely cultivated enclosures, and the distance
eastward is bounded by the Longford hills. The stream ran from the south
side of the mill (where it is still of some width though nearly choked
up), and fell over the once busy wheel, into a deep channel, now
overgrown with weeds. Neglect and poverty appear all around. The farm
house and barn-like buildings, which fill up the sketch, seem to have no
circumstances of interest attached to them (p. 83).

Lissoy Mill LISSOY MILL (R. H. Newell)

KILKENNY WEST CHURCH.

This south-west view was taken from the road, which passes by the
church, towards Lishoy, and overlooks the adjacent country to the west.
The church appears neat, its exterior having been lately repaired. The
tree added to the foreground is the only liberty taken with the subject
(p. 83).


HAWTHORN TREE.

An east view of the tree, as it stood in August, 1806. The Athlone road
occupies the centre of the sketch, winding round

page 263



the stone wall to the right, into the village, and to the left leading
toward the church. The cottage and tree opposite the hawthorn, adjoin
the present public-house; the avenue before the parsonage tops the
distant eminence (p. 84).


SOUTH VIEW FROM GOLDSMITH'S MOUNT.

In this sketch 'the decent church,' at the top of the hill in the
distance, is an important object, from its exact correspondence with the
situation given it in the poem. Half-way up stands the solitary ruin
of Lord Dillon's castle. The hill in shadow, on the left, is above the
village, and is supposed to be alluded to in the line

Up yonder hill the distant murmur rose.

A flat of bogland extends from the narrow lake in the centre to the
mount on the right of the foreground (p. 84).


THE PARSONAGE.

A south view from the Athlone road, which runs parallel with the
stone wall, and nearly east and west: the gateway is that mentioned
in Goldsmith's letter,* the mount being directly opposite, in a field
contiguous with the road.

The ruinous stone wall in this and three other sketches, which is a
frequent sort of fence in the neighbourhood, gives a characteristic
propriety to the line (48)

And the long grass o'ertops the mould'ring wall.

(pp. 84-5). The Parsonage THE PARSONAGE (R. H. Newell)

THE SCHOOL-HOUSE.

This cottage is situated, as the poem describes it, by the road-side,
just where it forms a sharp angle by branching out from the village
eastward: at this point a south- west view was taken (p. 85).

Newell's book was reissued in 1820; but no alterations were made in the
foregoing descriptions which, it must be borne in

*See note to l. 114 of The Deserted Village.


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mind, refer to 1806-9. His enthusiastic identifications will no doubt be
taken by the reader with the needful grain of salt. Goldsmith probably
remembered the hawthorn bush, the church upon the hill, the watercress
gatherer, and some other familiar objects of the 'seats of his youth.'
But distance added charm to the regretful retrospect; and in the details
his fancy played freely with his memories. It would be unwise, for
example, to inferas Mr. Hogan didthe decorations of the Three Pidgeons
at Lissoy from the account of the inn in the poem. Some twelve years
before its publication, when he was living miserably in Green Arbour
Court, Goldsmith had submitted to his brother Henry a sample of a
heroi-comic poem describing a Grub Street writer in bed in 'a paltry
ale-house.' In this 'the sanded floor,' the 'twelve good rules' and
the broken tea-cups all played their parts as accessories, and even the
double-dealing chest had its prototype in the poet's night- cap, which
was 'a cap by nighta stocking all the day.' A year or two later he
expanded these lines in the Citizen of the World, and the scene becomes
the Red Lion in Drury Lane. From this second version he adapted, or
extended again, the description of the inn parlour in The Deserted
Village. It follows therefore, either that he borrowed for London the
details of a house in Ireland, or that he used for Ireland the details
of a house in London. If, on the other hand, it be contended that those
details were common to both places, then the identification in these
particulars of Auburn with Lissoy falls hopelessly to the ground.



APPENDIX C


THE EPITHET 'SENTIMENTAL.'

Goldsmith's use of 'sentimental' in the 'prologue' to She Stoops to
Conquer (p. 109, l. 36)the only occasion upon which he seems to have
employed it in his Poemsaffords an excuse for bringing together one
or two dispersed illustrations of the rise and growth of this once
highly-popular adjective, not as yet

*What follows is taken from the writer's 'Introduction' to Mr. Edwin
Abbey's illustrated edition of The Deserted Village, 1902, p. ix.


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reached in the N. E. D. Johnson, who must often have heard it, ignores
it altogether; and in Todd's edition of his Dictionary (1818) it is
expressly marked with a star as one of the modern words which are 'not'
to be found in the Doctor's collection. According to Mr. Sidney Lee's
admirable article in the Dictionary of National Biography on Sterne,
that author is to be regarded as the 'only begetter' of the epithet. Mr.
Lee says that it first occurs in a letter of 1740 written by the future
author of Tristram Shandy to the Miss Lumley he afterwards married. Here
is the precise and characteristic passage:'I gave a thousand pensive,
penetrating looks at the chair thou hadst so often graced, in those
quiet and sentimental repaststhen laid down my knife and fork, and
took out my handkerchief, and clapped it across my face, and wept like
a child' (Sterne's Works by Saintsbury, 1894, v. 25). Nine years later,
however circulated, 'sentimental' has grown 'so much in vogue' that
it has reached from London to the provinces. 'Mrs. Belfour' (Lady
Bradshaigh) writing from Lincolnshire to Richardson says:'Pray, Sir,
give me leave to ask you . . . what, in your opinion, is the meaning of
the word sentimental, so much in vogue amongst the polite, both in town
and country? In letters and common conversation, I have asked several
who make use of it, and have generally received for answer, it isit
issentimental. Every thing clever and agreeable is comprehended in that
word; but [I] am convinced a wrong interpretation is given, because it
is impossible every thing clever and agreeable can be so common as this
word. I am frequently astonished to hear such a one is a sentimental
man; we were a sentimental party; I have been taking a sentimental walk.
And that I might be reckoned a little in the fashion, and, as I thought,
show them the proper use of the word, about six weeks ago, I declared
I had just received a sentimental letter. Having often laughed at the
word, and found fault with the application of it, and this being the
first time I ventured to make use of it, I was loudly congratulated upon
the occasion: but I should be glad to know your interpretation of it'
(Richardson's Correspondence, 1804, iv. pp. 282- 3). The reply of the
author of Clarissa, which would have been interesting, is not given;
but it is clear that by this date (1749) 'sentimental' must already have
been rather overworked by 'the polite.' Eleven years after this we meet
with it in the Prologue to Colman's


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'Dramatick Novel' of Polly Honeycombe. 'And then,' he says, commenting
upon the fiction of the period,

And then so sentimental is the Stile, So chaste, yet so bewitching all
the while! Plot, and elopement, passion, rape, and rapture, The total
sum of ev'ry deardearChapter.

With February, 1768, came Sterne's Sentimental Journey upon which
Wesley has this comment:'I casually took a volume of what is called,
"A Sentimental Journey through France and Italy." Sentimental! what is
that? It is not English: he might as well say, Continental [!]. It is
not sense. It conveys no determinate idea; yet one fool makes many. And
this nonsensical word (who would believe it?) is become a fashionable
one!' (Journal, February 11, 1772). In 1773, Goldsmith puts it in
the 'Dedication' to She Stoops:'The undertaking a comedy, not merely
^sentimental^, was very dangerous;' and Garrick (forgetting Kelly and
False Delicacy) uses it more than once in his 'Prologue' to the same
play, e.g.'Faces are blocks in ^sentimental^ scenes.' Further examples
might easily be multiplied, for the word, in spite of Johnson, had now
come to stay. Two years subsequently we find Sheridan referring to

The goddess of the woful countenance, The sentimental Muse!

in an occasional 'Prologue' to The Rivals. It must already have passed
into the vocabulary of the learned. Todd gives examples from Shenstone
and Langhorne. Warton has it more than once in his History of
English Poetry; and it figures in the Essays of Vicesimus Knox. Thus
academically launched, we need no longer follow its fortunes.



APPENDIX D


FRAGMENTS OF TRANSLATIONS, ETC., BY GOLDSMITH.

To the Aldine edition of 1831, the Rev. John Mitford added several
fragments of translation from Goldsmith's Essays. About a third of
these were traced by Bolton Corney in 1845 to the Horace of Francis. He
therefore compiled a fresh collection, here given.


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From a French version of Homer.

The shouting army cry'd with joy extreme, He sure must conquer, who
himself can tame! The Bee, 1759, p. 90.

The next is also from Homer, and is proposed as an improvement of Pope:

They knew and own'd the monarch of the main: The sea subsiding spreads
a level plain: The curling waves before his coursers fly: The parting
surface leaves his brazen axle dry. Miscellaneous Works, 1801, iv. 410.

From the same source comes number three, a quatrain from Vida's
Eclogues:

Say heavenly muse, their youthful frays rehearse; Begin, ye daughters
of immortal verse; Exulting rocks have crown'd the power of song! And
rivers listen'd as they flow'd along. Miscellaneous Works, 1801, iv.
427.

Another is a couplet from Ovid, the fish referred to being the scarus or
bream:

Of all the fish that graze beneath the flood, He, only, ruminates his
former food. History of the Earth, etc., 1774, iii. 6.

Bolton Corney also prints the translation from the Spectator, already
given in this volume. His last fragment is from the posthumous
translation of Scarron's Roman Comique:

Thus, when soft love subdues the heart With smiling hopes and chilling
fears, The soul rejects the aid of art, And speaks in moments more than
years. The Comic Romance of Monsieur Scarron, 1775, ii. 161.

It is unnecessary to refer to any other of the poems attributed to
Goldsmith. Mitford included in his edition a couple of quatrains
inserted in the Morning Chronicle for April 3, 1800, which were said to
be by the poet; but they do not resemble his manner. Another piece with
the title of The Fair Thief was revived in July, 1893, by an anonymous
writer in the Daily


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Chronicle, as being possibly by Goldsmith, to whom it was assigned in
an eighteenth-century anthology (1789-80). Its discoverer, however,
subsequently found it given in Walpole's Noble Authors (Park's edition,
1806) to Charles Wyndham, Earl of Egremont. It has no great merit; and
may safely be neglected as an important addition to Goldsmith's Works,
already burdened with much which that critical author would never have
reprinted.



APPENDIX E


GOLDSMITH ON POETRY UNDER ANNE AND GEORGE THE FIRST.

In Letter xvi, vol. ii. pp.139-41, of An History of England in a
Series of Letters from a Nobleman to his Son, 1764, Goldsmith gives the
following short account of the state of poetry in the first quarter of
the Eighteenth Century.

'But, of all the other arts, poetry in this age was carried to the
greatest perfection. The language, for some ages, had been improving,
but now it seemed entirely divested of its roughness and barbarity.
Among the poets of this period we may place John Philips, author
of several poems, but of none more admired than that humourous one,
entitled, The Splendid Shilling; he lived in obscurity, and died just
above want. William Congreve deserves also particular notice; his
comedies, some of which were but coolly received upon their first
appearance, seemed to mend upon repetition; and he is, at present,
justly allowed the foremost in that species of dramatic poesy. His
wit is ever just and brilliant; his sentiments new and lively; and his
elegance equal to his regularity. Next him Vanbrugh is placed, whose
humour seems more natural, and characters more new; but he owes too many
obligations to the French, entirely to pass for an original; and his
total disregard to decency, in a great measure, impairs his merit.
Farquhar is still more lively, and, perhaps more entertaining than
either; his pieces still continue the favourite performances of the
stage, and bear frequent repetition without satiety; but he often
mistakes pertness for wit, and seldom strikes his characters with proper
force or originality. However, he died very young; and it is remarkable,
that he


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continued to improve as he grew older; his last play, entitled The
Beaux' Strategem, being the best of his productions. Addison, both as
a poet and prose writer, deserves the highest regard and imitation. His
Campaign, and Letter to Lord Halifax from Italy, are masterpieces in
the former, and his Essays published in the Spectator are inimitable
specimens of the latter. Whatever he treated of was handled with
elegance and precision; and that virtue which was taught in his
writings, was enforced by his example. Steele was Addison's friend and
admirer; his comedies are perfectly polite, chaste, and genteel; nor
were his other works contemptible; he wrote on several subjects, and yet
it is amazing, in the multiplicity of his pursuits, how he found leisure
for the discussion of any. Ever persecuted by creditors, whom his
profuseness drew upon him, or pursuing impracticable schemes, suggested
by ill-grounded ambition. Dean Swift was the professed antagonist both
of Addison and him. He perceived that there was a spirit of romance
mixed with all the works of the poets who preceded him; or, in other
words, that they had drawn nature on the most pleasing side. There still
therefore was a place left for him, who, careless of censure, should
describe it just as it was, with all its deformities; he therefore owes
much of his fame, not so much to the greatness of his genius, as to the
boldness of it. He was dry, sarcastic, and severe; and suited his style
exactly to the turn of his thought, being concise and nervous. In this
period also flourished many of subordinate fame. Prior was the first who
adopted the French elegant easy manner of telling a story; but if what
he has borrowed from that nation be taken from him, scarce anything will
be left upon which he can lay any claim to applause in poetry. Rowe was
only outdone by Shakespeare and Otway as a tragic writer; he has fewer
absurdities than either; and is, perhaps, as pathetic as they; but his
flights are not so bold, nor his characters so strongly marked. Perhaps
his coming later than the rest may have contributed to lessen the esteem
he deserves. Garth had success as a poet; and, for a time, his fame was
even greater than his desert. In his principal work, The Dispensary,
his versification is negligent; and his plot is now become tedious; but
whatever he may lose as a poet, it would be improper to rob him of the
merit he deserves for having written the prose dedication, and preface,
to the poem already mentioned; in which he


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has shown the truest wit, with the most refined elegance. Parnell,
though he has written but one poem, namely, The Hermit, yet has found a
place among the English first rate poets. Gay, likewise, by his Fables
and Pastorals, has acquired an equal reputation. But of all who have
added to the stock of English Poetry, Pope, perhaps, deserves the first
place. On him, foreigners look as one of the most successful writers of
his time; his versification is the most harmonious, and his correctness
the most remarkable of all our poets. A noted contemporary of his own
calls the English the finest writers on moral topics, +and Pope the
noblest moral writer of all the English. Mr. Pope has somewhere named
himself the last English Muse; and, indeed, since his time, we have
seen scarce any production that can justly lay claim to immortality;
he carried the language to its highest perfection; and those who have
attempted still farther to improve it, instead of ornament, have only
caught finery.'



APPENDIX F


CRITICISMS FROM GOLDSMITH'S 'BEAUTIES OF ENGLISH POESY.'

To The Beauties of English Poesy, 2 vols., 1767, Goldsmith prefixed,
in each case, 'short introductory criticisms.' They are, as he says,
'rather designed for boys than men'; and aim only at being 'obvious and
sincere'; but they carry his views on the subject somewhat farther than
the foregoing account from the History of England.


THE RAPE OF THE LOCK.

This seems to be Mr. Pope's most finished production, and is, perhaps,
the most perfect in our language. It exhibits stronger powers of
imagination, more harmony of numbers, and a greater knowledge of the
world, than any other of this poet's works; and it is probable, if
our country were called upon to show a specimen of their genius to
foreigners, this would be the work here fixed upon.

page 271



THE HERMIT.

This poem is held in just esteem, the versification being chaste,
and tolerably harmonious, and the story told with perspicuity and
conciseness. It seems to have cost great labour, both to Mr. Pope and
Parnell himself, to bring it to this perfection.* It may not be amiss to
observe that the fable is taken from one of Dr. Henry More's Dialogues.


IL PENSEROSO.

I have heard a very judicious critic say, that he had an higher idea of
Milton's style in poetry, from the two following poems [Il Penseroso and
l'Allegro], than from his Paradise Lost. It is certain the imagination
shown in them is correct and strong. The introduction to both in
irregular measure is borrowed from the Italian, and hurts an English
ear.


AN ELEGY, WRITTEN IN A COUNTRY CHURCH YARD.

This is a very fine poem, but overloaded with epithet. The heroic
measure with alternate rhyme is very properly adapted to the solemnity
of the subject, as it is the slowest movement that our language admits
of. The latter part of the poem is pathetic and interesting.


LONDON. IN IMITATION OF THE THIRD SATIRE OF JUVENAL.

This poem of Mr. Johnson's is the best imitation of the original that
has appeared in our language, being possessed of all the force and
satirical resentment of Juvenal. Imitation gives us a much truer idea of
the ancients than even translation could do.


THE SCHOOL-MISTRESS. IN IMITATION OF SPENSER.

This poem is one of those happinesses in which a poet excels himself,
as there is nothing in all Shenstone which in any way approaches it in
merit; and, though I dislike the imitations of

*Parnell's Poems, 1770, xxiv. This is a strange complaint to come from
Goldsmith, whose own Hermit, as was pointed out to the present Editor by
the late Mr. Kegan Paul, is certainly open to this impeachment.


page 272



our old English poets in general, yet, on this minute subject, the
antiquity of the style produces a very ludicrous solemnity.


COOPER'S HILL.

This poem, by Denham, though it may have been exceeded by later attempts
in description, yet deserves the highest applause, as it far surpasses
all that went before it: the concluding part, though a little too much
crowded, is very masterly.


ELOISA TO ABELARD.

The harmony of numbers in this poem is very fine. It is rather drawn
out to too tedious a length, although the passions vary with great
judgement. It may be considered as superior to anything in the
epistolary way; and the many translations which have been made of it
into the modern languages, are in some measure a proof of this.


AN EPISTLE FROM MR. PHILIPS [Ambrose Philips] TO THE EARL OF DORSET.

The opening of this poem is incomparably fine. The latter part is
tedious and trifling.


A LETTER FROM ITALY, TO THE RIGHT HONOURABLE CHARLES LORD HALIFAX.

In the Year MDCCI.

Few poems have done more honour to English genius than this. There is
in it a strain of political thinking that was, at that time, new in
our poetry. Had the harmony of this been equal to that of Pope's
versification, it would be incontestably the finest poem in our
language; but there is a dryness in the numbers which greatly lessens
the pleasure excited both by the poet's judgement and imagination.*

*See introductory note to The Traveller, p. 162.


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ALEXANDER'S FEAST; OR, THE POWER OF MUSIC. AN ODE, IN HONOUR OF ST.
CECILIA'S DAY.

This ode [by Mr. Dryden] has been more applauded, perhaps, than it has
been felt, however, it is a very fine one, and gives its beauties rather
at a third, or fourth, than at a first perusal.


ODE FOR MUSIC ON ST. CECILIA'S DAY.

This ode [by Mr. Pope] has by many been thought equal to the former. As
it is a repetition of Dryden's manner, it is so far inferior to him. The
whole hint of Orpheus, and many of the lines, have been taken from an
obscure Ode upon Music, published in Tate's Miscellanies.*


THE SHEPHERD'S WEEK. IN SIX PASTORALS.

These are Mr. Gay's principal performances. They were originally
intended, I suppose, as a burlesque on those of [Ambrose] Philips; but,
perhaps without designing it, he has hit the true spirit of pastoral
poetry. In fact, he more resembles Theocritus than any other English
pastoral writer whatsoever. There runs through the whole a strain
of rustic pleasantry which should ever distinguish this species of
composition; but how far the antiquated expressions used here may
contribute to the humour, I will not determine; for my own part, I could
wish the simplicity were preserved, without recurring to such obsolete
antiquity for the manner of expressing it.


MAC FLECKNOE.

The severity of this satire, and the excellence of its versification
give it a distinguished rank in this species of composition. At present,
an ordinary reader would scarce suppose that Shadwell, who is here meant
by Mac Flecknoe, was worth being chastised, and that Dryden's descending
to such game was like an eagle's stooping to catch flies. The truth
however is, Shadwell, at one time, held divided reputation with this
great poet. Every

*A Pindaric Essay upon Musicksays Gibbsby 'Mr. Wilson',' which appears
at p. 401 of Tate's Collection of 1685. 'Aquila non capit muscas'
(Apostolius).


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age produces its fashionable dunces, who, by following the transient
topic, or humour, of the day, supply talkative ignorance with materials
for conversation.


ON POETRY. A RHAPSODY.

Here follows one of the best versified poems in our language, and the
most masterly production of its author. The severity with which Walpole
is here treated, was in consequence of that minister having refused to
provide for Swift in England, when applied to for that purpose in the
year 1725 (if I remember right). The severity of a poet, however,
gave Walpole very little uneasiness. A man whose schemes, like this
minister's, seldom extended beyond the exigency of the year, but little
regarded the contempt of posterity.


OF THE USE OF RICHES.

This poem, as Mr. Pope tells us himself, cost much attention and labour;
and, from the easiness that appears in it, one would be apt to think as
much.


FROM THE DISPENSARY.

This sixth canto of the Dispensary, by Dr. Garth, has more merit than
the whole preceding part of the poem, and, as I am told, in the first
edition of this work it is more correct than as here exhibited; but that
edition I have not been able to find. The praises bestowed on this poem
are more than have been given to any other; but our approbation, at
present, is cooler, for it owed part of its fame to party.*


ECLOGUE I.

SELIM: OR, THE SHEPHERD'S MORAL.

The following eclogues, written by Mr. Collins, are very pretty: the
images, it must be owned, are not very local; for the pastoral subject
could not well admit of it. The description

*Cf. Dedication of The Traveller, ll. 34-45. i.e.Selim, Hassan, Agib
and Secander, and Abra. Goldsmith admired Collins, whom he calls in the
Enquiry, 1759, p. 143, 'the neglected author of the Persian eclogues,
which, however inaccurate, excel any in our language.' He borrowed
freely from him in the Threnodia Augustalis, q.v.


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of Asiatic magnificence, and manners, is a subject as yet unattempted
amongst us, and I believe, capable of furnishing a great variety of
poetical imagery.


THE SPLENDID SHILLING.

BY MR. J. PHILIPS.

This is reckoned the best parody of Milton in our language: it has been
an hundred times imitated, without success. The truth is, the first
thing in this way must preclude all future attempts; for nothing is so
easy as to burlesque any man's manner, when we are once showed the way.


A PIPE OF TOBACCO:

IN IMITATION OF SIX SEVERAL AUTHORS.

Mr. Hawkins Browne, the author of these, as I am told, had no good
original manner of his own, yet we see how well he succeeded when
he turns an imitator; for the following are rather imitations than
ridiculous parodies.


A NIGHT-PIECE ON DEATH.

The great fault of this piece, written by Dr. Parnell, is that it is in
eight- syllable lines, very improper for the solemnity of the subject;
otherwise, the poem is natural, and the reflections just.


A FAIRY TALE.

BY DR. PARNELL.

Never was the old manner of speaking more happily applied, or a tale
better told, than this.


PALEMON AND LAVINIA. [From The Seasons.]

Mr. Thomson, though, in general, a verbose and affected poet, has told
this story with unusual simplicity: it is rather given here for being
much esteemed by the public, than by the editor.


THE BASTARD.

Almost all things written from the heart, as this certainly was, have
some merit. The poet here describes sorrows and misfortunes which were
by no means imaginary; and, thus, there


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runs a truth of thinking through this poem, without which it would be of
little value, as Savage is, in other respects, but an indifferent poet.


THE POET AND HIS PATRON.

Mr. Mo[o]re was a poet that never had justice done him while living;
there are few of the moderns have a more correct taste, or a more
pleasing manner of expressing their thoughts. It was upon these fables
[Nos. v, vi, and xvi of the Fables for the Ladies] he chiefly founded
his reputation; yet they are, by no means, his best production.


AN EPISTLE TO A LADY.

This little poem, by Mr. Nugent [afterwards Lord Clare] is very
pleasing. The easiness of the poetry, and the justice of the thoughts,
constitute its principal beauty.


HANS CARVEL.

This bagatelle, for which, by the by, Mr. Prior has got his greatest
reputation, was a tale told in all the old Italian collections of jests,
and borrowed from thence by Fontaine. It had been translated once or
twice before into English, yet was never regarded till it fell into the
hands of Mr. Prior. A strong instance how everything is improved in the
hands of a man of genius.


BAUCIS AND PHILEMON.

This poem [by Swift] is very fine; and though in the same strain with
the preceding [Prior's Ladle] is yet superior.


TO THE EARL OF WARWICK, ON THE DEATH OF MR. ADDISON.

This elegy (by Mr. Ticknell) is one of the finest in our language; there
is so little new that can be said upon the death of a friend, after
the complaints of Ovid and the Latin Italians, in this way, that one
is surprised to see so much novelty in this to strike us, and so much
interest to affect.


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COLIN AND LUCY.

Through all Tickell's works there is a strain of ballad-thinking, if
I may so express it; and, in this professed ballad, he seems to have
surpassed himself. It is, perhaps, the best in our language in this way.


THE TEARS OF SCOTLAND.

WRITTEN IN THE YEAR MDCCXLVI.

This ode, by Dr. Smollett, does rather more honour to the author's
feelings than his taste. The mechanical part, with regard to numbers and
language, is not so perfect as so short a work as this requires; but
the pathetic it contains, particularly in the last stanza but one, is
exquisitely fine.


ON THE DEATH OF THE LORD PROTECTOR.

Our poetry was not quite harmonized in Waller's time; so that this,
which would be now looked upon as a slovenly sort of versification, was,
with respect to the times in which it was written, almost a prodigy of
harmony. A modern reader will chiefly be struck with the strength of
thinking, and the turn of the compliments bestowed upon the usurper.
Everybody has heard the answer our poet made Charles II; who asked him
how his poem upon Cromwell came to be finer than his panegyric upon
himself. 'Your majesty,' replies Waller, 'knows, that poets always
succeed best in fiction.'


THE STORY OF PHOEBUS AND DAPHNE APPLIED.

The French claim this [by Mr. Waller] as belonging to them. To
whomsoever it belongs the thought is finely turned.


NIGHT THOUGHTS.

BY DR. YOUNG.

These seem to be the best of the collection; from whence only the two
first are taken. They are spoken of differently, either with exaggerated
applause or contempt, as the reader's disposition is either turned to
mirth or melancholy.


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SATIRE I.

Young's Satires were in higher reputation when published, than they
stand in at present. He seems fonder of dazzling than pleasing; of
raising our admiration for his wit, than our dislike of the follies he
ridicules.


A PASTORAL BALLAD.

These ballads of Mr. Shenstone are chiefly commended for the natural
simplicity of the thoughts and the harmony of the versification.
However, they are not excellent in either.


PHOEBE. A PASTORAL.

This, by Dr. Byrom, is a better effort than the preceding [a ballad by
Shenstone].


A SONG.

This ['Despairing beside a clear stream'] by Mr. Rowe, is better than
anything of the kind in our language.


AN ESSAY ON POETRY.

This work, by the Duke of Buckingham, is enrolled among our great
English productions. The precepts are sensible, the poetry not
indifferent, but it has been praised more than it deserves.


CADENUS AND VANESSA.

This is thought one of Dr. Swift's correctest pieces; its chief merit,
indeed, is the elegant ease with which a story, but ill-conceived in
itself, is told.


ALMA: OR, THE PROGRESS OF THE MIND.

What Prior meant by this poem I can't understand; by the Greek motto to
it one would think it was either to laugh at the subject or the reader.
There are some parts of it very fine; and let them save the badness of
the rest.

END OF THE POETICAL WORKS OF GOLDSMITH







End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Complete Poetical Works of Oliver
Goldsmith, by Oliver Goldsmith

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