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MISCELLANIES.

MISCELLANIES.

THE CLOWN'S REPLY.

John Trott was desir'd 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,
As I hope to be sav'd! without thinking on asses."
Edinburgh, 1753. (1)

PROLOGUE,

WRITTEN AND SPOKEN BY THE POET LABERIUS, A ROMAN

KNIGHT, WHOM CESAR FORCED UPON THE STAGE.

Preserved by Macrobius. (2)

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?

(1) [This is the only effusion preserved, of several which Goldsmith is said to have written while a student at Edinburgh.]

(2) [This translation was first printed in "The Present State of Polite Learning," in 1759; but was omitted in the second edition, which appeared in 1774. Decimus Laberius was made a Roman knight by Julius Cæsar. For a long period he maintained the first character as a farce writer; but Publius Syrus at last became his rival, and carried off the applause of the theatre. See Aulus Gellius, 1. iii., c. 7; and Hor. Sat. lib. i. sat. x.]

A time there was, when glory was my guide,
Nor force nor fraud could turn my steps aside;
Unaw'd by power, and unappall'd by fear,
With honest thrift I held my honour dear:
But this vile hour disperses all my store,
And all hoard of honour is no more;
my

For ah! too partial to my life's decline,
Cæsar 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,
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.

THE LOGICIANS REFUTED.

In imitation of Dean Swift. (1)

Logicians have but ill defin'd
As rational the human mind;
Reason, they say, belongs to man,
But let them prove it if they can.
Wise Aristotle and Smiglesius,

By ratiocinations specious,

Have strove to prove with great precision,
With definition and division,

(1) [First printed in the "Busy Body," 1759; to draw attention to which publication it was announced as the production of the Dean of St. Patrick. It was included in the Dublin edition of his works, and is continued by Sir Walter Scott, who had doubtless forgotten its position in the works of Goldsmith. See Life, ch. ix.]

Homo est ratione preditum;

But for my soul I cannot credit 'em ;
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,

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,

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,

Nor know who's in or out at court;

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;
Nor undertake a dirty job,

Nor draw the quill to write for Bob: ()
Fraught with invective they ne'er go,
To folks at Paternoster Row:

No judges, fiddlers, dancing-masters,
No pickpockets 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.

(1) [Sir Robert Walpole, the object of so much vituperation by Swift.]

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