ENGLISH POETRY 1579-1830: SPENSER AND THE TRADITION
W. S., "The Grateful Lay. A Pastoral. Inscribed to the Memory of the celebrated Mr. Gay" London Magazine 49 (June 1780) 278.
1714: Rev. Thomas Parnell
1715 ca.: Rev. Thomas Parnell
1715 ca.: Samuel Garth
1716: Rev. Jonathan Swift
1720 ca.: Anonymous
1720: Giles Jacob
1724: James Heywood
1725: Richard Savage
1727: Rev. Samuel Wesley the Younger
1728: Allan Ramsay
1728: William Duncombe
1729: Thomas Cooke
1729: John Arbuthnot
1731: A Young Gentleman of Cambridge
1732: Alexander Pope
1733: Charles Coffey
1733: John Arbuthnot
1734 ca.: Alexander Pope
1736: Alexander Pope
1751 ca.: Moses Mendez
1751: William Warburton
1761: Rev. Myles Cooper
1767: Oliver Goldsmith
1772: Dr. John Aikin
1773: Rev. William Hayward Roberts
1773: Robert Fergusson
1780: W. S.
1782: Rev. Joseph Warton
1783: Joseph Ritson
1795: Dr. Robert Anderson
1796: Rev. Richard Polwhele
1806: Dr. John Aikin
1806: Rev. William Lisle Bowles
1807: Robert Southey
1815: William Wordsworth
1819: Thomas Campbell
1824: William Hazlitt
1824: Bryan Waller Procter
1829: Henry Neele
1833: John Wilson
1871: Whitwell Elwin
1880: Austin Dobson
1882: Epes Sargent
1882: Edmund Gosse
1616: Sir Thomas Overbury
1777: Gen. John Burgoyne
1777: David Hume
1780: John Gay
Ye shepherds attend to my lay,
Which gratefully I do rehearse,
To the memory of tuneful Gay,
The Shakespeare of Pastoral Verse.
His manners were gentle and mild,
As his converse was rural and sweet;
He was justly "Simplicity's child,"
As immortal Pope doth repeat.
His truely Theocritan strains,
Wherever he warbled his reed,
Bespeak him, of all the gay swains,
The shepherd of worthiest meed.
The sweet eclogues, which Cunningham sung,
Our sorrow shou'd never abate;
Nor the harmony of Shenstone's tongue,
His loss to us e'er compensate.
For can we so quickly forget,
Or e'er it so happ'ly repair,
As his Grubbinol and Bumpkinet,
Did that of their Blouzelind fair.
"What of Shenstone (mild Cunningham said)
I with justness do humbly deny,
Since with Gay the true pastoral fled,
And with him too, I fear, it did die.
"The Bucolic rivals dispute,
About whether deserved the bays,
Was instantly silent and mute,
When were seen Damon's worthier lays."
So to him the fair laurel was borne
By Genius, as justly his own;
Which, while living, his brow did adorn,
And since dead, on his tomb's ever grown.
Tho' on each annual eve of his death,
For a space it is withered seen,
Till — from a breeze of his Fame's balmy breath,
It re-bloometh more lovely and green.
Long, ye nymphs and ye lambkins, bewail
The loss of your favourite swain,
Whose presence illumin'd each vale,
And brighten'd the pleasantest plain.
But, why do I try to proclaim,
The praise of our Damon, whose worth,
Long ere now, on the pinions of Fame,
Has been borne o'er all parts of the earth.