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SONG.

INTENDED TO HAVE BEEN SUNG IN THE COMEDY OF

SHE STOOPS TO CONQUER.'1

AH me! when shall I marry me?
Lovers are plenty, but fail to relieve me.
He, fond youth, that could carry me,
Offers to love, but means to deceive me.
But I will rally, and combat the ruiner:

Not a look, not a smile shall my passion discover.
She that gives all to the false one pursuing her,
Makes but a penitent, and loses a lover.

1 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 of '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 very 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 relic, in his own handwriting, with an affectionate care. I am, Sir,

Your humble Servant,

JAMES BOSwell.

A SONNET.1

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

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

SONG.2

THE wretch condemn'd with life to part,

Still, still on hope relies;

And every pang that rends the heart

Bids expectation rise.

Hope, like the glimmering taper's light,

Adorns and cheers the way;

And still, as darker grows the night,

Emits a brighter ray.

1 See The Bee, No. iii. Imitated from the French of Saint Pavin, whose poems were collectively edited in 1759.—P. C. 2 [See the Oratorio of The Captivity.]

SONG.1

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

Thou, like the world, the opprest oppressing, Thy smiles increase the wretch's woe! And he who wants each other blessing,

In thee must ever find a foe.

1 See the Oratorio of The Captivity.

SONG.1

LET schoolmasters puzzle their brain
With grammar, and nonsense, and learning:
Good liquor, I stoutly maintain,

Gives genus a better discerning.

Let them brag of their heathenish gods,

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

Toroddle, toroddle, toroll.

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

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

I'll leave it to all men of sense,

But you, my good friend, are the pigeon. Toroddle, toroddle, toroll.

Then come, put the jorum about,

And let us be merry and clever;

Our hearts and our liquors are stout;
Here's the Three Jolly Pigeons for ever.

1 From 'She Stoops to Conquer.'

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.

NOTE.We drank tea with the ladies, and Goldsmith sung Tony Lumpkins' song in his comedy, and a very pretty one, to an Irish tune (The Humours of Ballanagairy), which he had designed for Miss Hardcastle; but as Mrs. Bulkley, who played the part, could not sing, it was left out. He afterwards wrote it down for me, by which means it was preserved, and now appears among his poems.

Boswell's Johnson, v. ii. p. 217

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