On the Death of Dr. Johnson, a number of People, ambitious of being distinguished from the mute Part of their Species, set about relating and printing Stories and Bonmots of that celebrated Moralist. Among the most zealous, though not the most enlightened, appeared Mr. Boswell and Madame Piozzi, the Hero and Heroine of our Eclogue. They are supposed to have in Contemplation the Life of Johnson; and, to prove their Biographical Abilities, appeal to Sir John Hawkins for his Decision on their respective Merits, from their printed Anecdotes of the Doctor. Sir John hears them with uncommon Patience, and determines very properly on the Pretensions of the contending Parties.
WHEN Johnson sought (as Shakspeare says) that bourn
From whence, alas! no travellers return
(In humbler English, when the Doctor died,)
Apollo whimper'd, and the Muses cried;
Parnassus moped for days, in business slack,
And, like a Hearse, the Hill was hung with black;
Minerva, sighing for her favourite Son
Pronounced, with lengthen'd face, the World undone;
Her Owl too hooted in so loud a style,
That people might have heard the Bird a mile :
Jove wiped his eyes so red; and told his Wife,
He ne'er made Johnson's equal in his life;
And that 'twould be a long time ere, if ever,
His art could form a fellow half so clever:
Venus, of all the little Loves the Dam,
With all the Graces, sobb'd for Brother Sam;
Such were the heavenly howlings for his death,
As if Dame Nature had resigned her breath.
Nor less sonorous was the grief, I ween,
Amidst the natives of our earthly scene:
From Beggars, to the Great who hold the helm,
One Johnso-mania raged through all the Realm.
"Who," cried the World, "can match his Prose or
Rhyme ?
O'er Wits of modern days he towers sublime:
An Oak, wide-spreading o'er the Shrubs below,
That round his roots, with Puny foliage, blow;
A Pyramid amidst some barren waste,
That frowns o'er Huts the sport of every blast ;
A mighty Atlas, whose aspiring head
O'er distant regions cast an awful shade.
By Kings and Beggars, lo! his tales are told,
And every Sentence glows a Grain of Gold.
Blest who his philosophic Phiz can take,
Catch even his weaknesses, his Noddle's shake,
The lengthen'd Lip of scorn, the forehead's Scowl,
The louring Eye's contempt, and Bear-like Growl.
In vain the Critics aim their toothless rage;
Mere Sprats, that venture war with Whales to wage:
Unmoved he stands, and feels their force no more
Than some huge Rock amidst the watry roar,
That calmly bears the tumults of the deep,
And howling tempests that as well may sleep."
Strong 'midst the Rambler's Cronies was the rage
To fill with Sam's Bon-mots and tales the page;
Mere flies, that buzz'd around his setting Ray,
And bore a splendour on their wings away:
Thus round his orb the pigmy Planets run,
And catch their little lustre from the Sun.
At length, rush'd forth two Candidates for fame;
A Scotchman one, and one a London Dame :
That, by th' emphatic Johnson christened Bozzy;
This, by the Bishop's license, Dame Piozzi;
Whose widowed name, by Topers loved, was Thrale,
Bright in the annals of Election Ale;
A name, by marriage that gave up the ghost,
In poor Pedocchio (no; Piozzi) lost.*
Each seized with ardour wild the gray-goose Quill:
Each set to work the intellectual Mill;
That pecks of Bran so coarse began to pour,
To one poor solitary grain of Flour.
The Author was nearly committing a blunder: fortunate indeed was his recollection; as Pedocchio signifies, in the Italian language, that most contemptible of animals, a louse.
Forth rush'd to light their books; but who should
Which bore the palm of Anecdote away?
This to decide, the rival Wits agreed
Before Sir John their tales and jokes to read;
And let the Knights' opinion in the strife,
Declare the properest pen to write Sam's Life
Sir John, renowned for Musical palavers ;*
The Prince, the King, the Emperor, of Quavers:
Sharp in solfeggi, as the sharpest Needle;
Great in the noble art of tweedle-tweedle;
Of Music's College formed to be a Fellow,
Fit for Mus. D. or Maestro di Capella;
Whose Volume, though it here and there offends,
Boasts German merit-makes by bulk amends.
High-placed the venerable Quarto sits,
Superior frowning o'er Octavo wits
And Duodecimos: ignoble scum,
Poor Prostitutes to every vulgar thumb;
While, undefiled by literary rage,
He bears a spotless leaf from age to age.
Like School-boys, lo! before a two-armed chair
That held the Knight wise-judging, stood the Pair:
Or like to Ponies on the sporting-ground,
Prepared to gallop when the drum should sound,
The Couple ranged; for victory both as keen,
As for a tottering Bishopric a Dean;
Or patriot Burke, for giving glorious bastings
To that intolerable fellow Hastings.
Thus with their songs contended Virgil's Swains,
And made the valleys vocal with their strains,
Before some Graybeard sage, whose judgment ripe
Gave Goats for Prizes to the prettiest pipe.
"Alternately in Anecdotes go on;
But first begin you, Madam," cried Sir John.
The thankful dame low curtseyed to the Chair,
And thus, for victory panting, read the Fair :-
* Vide his History of Music.
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