The works of Oliver Goldsmith ... With introductory memoir. By William Spalding

Front matter

GOLDSMITH'S WORKS d in t_s ..i &©_______ nrmi THE WORKS OF OLIVER GOLDSMITH: COMPRISING POETICAL WORKS. DRAMAS. PRESENT STATE OF POLITE LEARNING. THE BEE. VICAR OF WAKEFIELD CITIZEN OF THE WORLD. ESSAYS. LETTERS. WITH INTRODUCTORY MEMOIR. t!Y WILLIAM SPALDING, A.M. PROFESSOR OF LOGIC IN THE UNIVERSITY OF 8T ANDREWS. LONDON AND GLASGOW: RICHARD GRIFFIN AND COMPANY, PUBLISHERS TO THE UNIVERSITY OF GLASGOW, 1858. CONTENTS. PAGE INTRODUCTORY MEMOIR, -------__ v LETTERS, - - xix I POEMS AND PLAYS, - - 1 VICAR OF WAKEFIELD, - - - 71 LETTERS FROM A CITIZEN OF THE WORLD, - - - - 127 (NQUIRY INTO THE PRESENT STATE OF POLITE LEARNING, - _ 257 THE BEE ----- - - 275 MISCELLANEOUS ESSAYS, --------- OF OLIVER GOLDSMITH. By WILLIAM SPALDING, A.M. PROFESSOR OF LOGIC IN THE UNIVERSITY OF ST ANDREWS. The fame of Goldsmith, while it is one of the hig-hest in English literature, has like wise been one of the steadiest, and is certain to be one of the most lasting.

Of all our standard authors, there are very few who please so many readers ; and, perhaps, none who is as widely popular is at the same time so heartily appreciated by persons of refined and critical taste. The ' Vicar of Wakefield' has been read, and liked, oftener than any other novel in any European language. The ' Citizen of the World,' if less various and less dramatic than the essays of Addison and his friends, is inspired by warmer feeling than they, and guided by a deeper sense of human interests. ' She Stoops to Conquer,' overflow ing with native gaiety, and seasoned by the truest humour, is one of the most pleasant comedies in existence. From ' The Traveller,' our poetry has received much, from ' The Deserted Village' it has received still more, of imagery flowing out of a fine and original fancy, of pathos which frequently dissolves into tenderness and sometimes swells into passion, and of expression so apt and so suggestive, that phrases and lines recur to us more readily than from any other works, except those of Shakspere and Pope.

The ever-living interest of Goldsmith's imaginative pictures lies mainly in the glow of kindness, wishful rather than hopeful, by which they are brightened. The landscape stretches out in clear sunshine, from which a gentle breeze is always chasing the scattered clouds. The same amiable spirit characterizes his observation of real life : the thoughts look always toward social or individual good ; the satire, when keenest, is never harsh. Over everything he does, too, his spontaneous grace of manner diffuses a charm which art could never reach. In his less prominent writings, also, there present themselves many hints towards thoughts which those greater works elaborated, and many expansions of thoughts at which those works had only hinted, and many other thoughts, and images, and senti ments, which he did not elsewhere use.

Epilogue

TO TIIE COMEDY OF " THE SISTERS." 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 Have emptied all the green-room on the stage. My life on't, this had kept her play from sinking, Have pleased our eyes, and saved the pain ol thinking. Well ! since she thus has shown her want of skill, What if I give a masquerade? — I will. STANZAS ON WOMAN. 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, To hide her shame from every eye, To give repentance to her lover, And wring his bosom, is — to die. But how? ay, there's the rub ! [pausing] I've got my cue : The world's a masquerade ! the masquers, you, you, you. [To Boxes, Pit, ami Gallery.

Lud ! what a group the motley scene disclose" ! False wits, false wives, false virgins, and false spouses ! Statesmen with bridles on ; and, close beside 'em, Patriots in party-colour'd 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. 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 Is to seem every thing — but what they are. Yon broad, bold, angry spark, I fix my eye on. Who seems t' have robb'd his vizor from the Hon ELEGY ON THE DEATH OF A MAD DOG. Good people all, of every sort, Give ear unto my song, And if you find it wondrous short — It cannot hold you long.

In Islington there was a man, 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 ; The naked every day he clad — When he put on his clothes. '20 MISCELLANIES. Who frowns and talks and s wears,with round parade. Looking, as who should say, dam'me ! who's afraid \ Strip but this vizor off, and, sure I am, [Mimicking. 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, 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 in Yon critic, too — but whither do I run \ [black ! If I proceed, our bard will be undone ! Well, then, a truce, since she requests it too : Do you spare her, aud I'll for once spare you.

Prologue

TO ZOBEIDE, A TRAGEDY; WRITTEN BY JOSEPH CRADDOCK, ESQ. Spoken by Mr. Quick, in the Character of a Sailor. 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, Forsake the fair, and patiently — go simpling ; Our bard into the general spirit enters, And fits his little frigate for adventures. With Scythian stores, and trinkets deeply laden, He this way steers his course, in hopes of trading , Yet ere he lands he's order'd me before, To make an observation on the shore. Where are we driven \ our reckoning sure is lost This seems a rocky and a dangerous coast. Lord, 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 billing turtles in 'em — [Balconies. Here ill-conditioned oranges abound — [Stage. And apples, bitter apples, strew the ground. [Tasting them The inhabitants are cannibals, I fear : I heard a hissing — there are serpents here ! 0, there the people are — best keep my distance ; Our Captain, gentle natives ! craves assistance; Our ship's well-stored ; — in yonder creek we've laid His Honour is no mercenary trader. [her, This is his first adventure ; lend him aid, And we may chance to drive a thriving trade. His goods, he hopes, are prime, and brought from Equally tit for gallantry and war. [far, What ! no reply to promises so ample ? I'd best step back — and order up a sample. EPILOGUE* TO THE GOOD-NATURED MAN.

Spoken by Mrs. Bulkley. 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, And make full many a bitter pill go down : Conscious of this, our bard has gone about, And teased 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 : " 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 ; " 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/' Our author's friends, thus placed 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, He eyes the centre, where his friends sit snug ; His simpering 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. 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-natured Man. AN EPILOGUE, INTENDED FOR MRS. BUI_K_LKY. There is a place — so Ariosto sings — A treasury for lost and missing things ; Lost human wits have places there assign'd them, And they who lose their senses, there may find them.

But where's this place, this storehouse of the age I The Moon, says lie ; — 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 ; Both prone to change, no settled limits fix, And sure the folks of both are lunatics. EPITAPH ON DR. PARNELL. This tomb, inscribed to gentle Parnell's name, May speak our gratitude, but not his fame. What heart but feels his sweetly moral lav, That leads to truth through pleasure's flowery way ? Celestial themes confess'd his tuneful aid ; 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.

But in this parallel my best pretence is, That mortals visit both to find their senses : To this strange spot, rakes, macaronies, cits, 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 doats on dancing, Taught by our art, her ridicule to pause on, Quits the ballet, and calls for Kancy Dawson. * See p. .in, MISCELLANIES. 21 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, Finds his lost senses out, and pays his debts. The Mohawk, too, with angry phrases stored — As " Dam 'me, Sir ! " and, " Sir, I wear a sword ! " Here lesson'd for awhile, and hence retreating.

Goes out, affronts his man, and takes a beating. 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 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. Yes, he's far gone : — and yet some pity fix, The English laws forbid to punish lunatics. Like some well-fashion'd arch thy patience stood, And purchased strength from its increasing load. Pain met thee like a friend to set thee free, Affliction still is virtue's opportunity ! SONG. — BY A MAN. Virtue, on herself relying, Every passion hush'd to rest, Loses every pain of dying.

In the hopes of being blest. Every added pang she suffers, an Some increasing good bestows, And every shock that malice offers, Only rocks her to repose. WOMAN SPEAKER. Yet, ah ! what terrors frown'd upon her fate — Death, with its formidable band, Fever, and pain, and pale consumptive care, Determined took their stand. Nor did the cruel ravagers design To finish all their efforts at a blow ; But, mischievously slow, They robb'd the relic and defaced the shrine. With unavailing grief, Despairing of relief, Her weeping children round Beheld each hour THRENODIA AUGUSTALIS, SACRED TO THE MEMORY OF HER ROYAL HIGHNESS THE PRINCESS DOWAGER OF WALES.

ADVERTISEMENT.

. Death's growing power, And trembled as he frown'd. The following may more properly be termed a compila tion than a poem. It was prepared for the composer in little more than two days; and may therefore rather be considered 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 composed in a period of time equally short. As helpless friends who view from shore The labouring ship, aud hear the tempest roar, While winds and waves their wishes cross, — They stood, while hope and comfort fail, Not to assist, but to bewail 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. overture. — A solemn Dirge.

Air. — Trio. Arise, ye sons of worth, arise, And waken every note of woe! When truth and virtue reach the t-kies, *Tis ours to weep the want below. SONG. — BY A MAN. When vice my dart and scythe supply, How great a king of terrors I ! CHORUS. When truth and virtue, $c. If folly, fraud, your hearts engage, Tremble, ye mortals, at my rage ! Fall, round me fall, ye little things, Ye statesmen, warriors, poets, kings ! If virtue fail her counsel sage, 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 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, But aid the power of doing good ; [to fame.

Then all their trophies last — and flattery turns Tremble, ye mortals, at my rage ! MAN SPEAKER. Yet let that wisdom, urged by her example, Teach us to estimate what all must suffer ; Let us prize death as the best gift of nature, As a safe inn, where weary travellers, When they have j ourney 'd through a world of cares. May put off life and be at rest for ever. Groans, weeping friends, indeed, and gloomy satles. May oft distract us with their sad solemnity : The preparation is the executioner. Death, when unmask'd, shows me a friendly face, And is a terror only at a distance ; For as the line of life conducts me on [fair. To Death's great court, the prospect seems niort "sis Nature's kind retreat, that's always open To take us in when we have drain'd the cup Of life, or worn our days to wretchedness.

In that secure, serene retreat, 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. Blest spirit thou, whose fame, just born to bloom, Shall spread and flourish from the tomb ; How hast thou left mankind for Heaven ! E'en now reproach and faction mourn, And, wondering how their rage was born, Request to be forgiven ! Alas ! they never had thy hate ; Unmoved, in conscious rectitude, 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, A thousand sorrows urged thy end : MISCELLANIES. 22 And, ah ! blest 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 ; May peace, that claim'd while here thy warmest May blissful, endless peace be thine above ! [love, 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, With many a tear, and many a sigh between : " And where," he cried, " shall now my babes have Or how shall age support its feeble fire? [bread, No lord will take me now, my vigour fled, Nor can my strength perform what they require; Each grudging master keeps the labourer bare, A sleek and idle race is all their care. SONG.— BY A WOMAN. Lovely, lasting Peace, below, Comforter of ev'ry woe. Heav'nly born, and bred on high, To crown the favourites of the sky ; Lovely, lasting Peace, appear ; This world itself, if thou art here, Is once again with Eden blest. And man contains it in his breast. My noble mistress thought not so : Her bounty, like the morning dew, Unseen, though constant, used to flow, And, as my strength decay'd, her bounty grew.1 WOMAN SPEAKER.

Our vows are heard ! long, long to mortal eyes, Her soul was fitting to its kindred skies ; Celestial-like her bounty fell, Where modest want and silent sorrow dwell : Want pass'd for merit at her door, WOMAN SPEAKER. In decent dress, and coarsely clean, The pious matron next was seen, Clasp'd in her hand a godly book was borne, By use and daily meditation worn ; That decent dress, this holy guide, Augusta's care had well supplied. " And, ah ! " she cries, all woe-begone, " What now remains for me 1 Oh ! where shall weeping want repair 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. But all my wants, before I spoke, Were to my Mistress known ; She still relieved, nor sought my praise, Contented with her own.

Unseen the modest were supplied, 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, A simple song, a sigh profound. There Faith shall come a pilgrim grey, To bless the tomb that wraps thy clay ; And calm Religion shall repair, To dwell a weeping hermit there. Truth, Fortitude, and Friendship shall agree To blend their virtues while they think of thee. Air. — Chorus. But every day her name I'll bless, My morning prayer, my evening song ; I'll praise her while my life shall last, A life that cannot last me long." Let us— let all the world agree. To profit by resembling thee. SONG BY A WOMAN.