Bozzy and Piozzi
or the
British Biographers
A Town Eclogue
The Argument
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 Bon-mots 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, by Quotations 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 Shakespeare 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 licence, Dame Piozzi;
Whose widowed name, by Topers loved, was Thrale,
Bright in the annals of Election Ale. . .
Each seized with ardour wild the grey-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.
Forth rush'd to light their Books; but who should say,
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 Knight's 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 two 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 Greybeard sage, whose judgement 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: —
MADAME PIOZZI
Sam Johnson was of Michael Johnson born;
Whose shop of books did Litchfield town adorn:
Wrong-headed, stubborn as a halter'd Ram;
In short, the model of our Hero Sam:
Inclined to madness too; for when his shop
Fell down, for want of cash to buy a prop,
For fear the thieves might steal the vanish'd store
He duly went each night and lock'd the door.
BOZZY
While Johnson was in Edinburgh, my Wife
To please his palate, studied for her life:
With every rarity she fill'd her house,
And gave the Doctor, for his dinner, grouse.
MADAME PIOZZI
Dear Doctor Johnson was in size an Ox;
And from his uncle Andrew learn'd to box:
A man to Wrestlers and to Bruisers dear,
Who kept the ring in Smithfield a whole year.
The Doctor had an uncle too, ador'd
By jumping gentry, called Cornelius Ford;
Who jump'd in Boots, which Jumpers never choose,
Far as a famous Jumper jump'd in Shoes.
BOZZY
At supper rose a dialogue on Witches,
When Crosbie said there could not be such bitches;
And that 'twas blasphemy to think such Hags
Could stir up storms, and on their broomstick Nags
Gallop along the air with wondrous pace,
And boldly fly in God Almighty's face:
But Johnson answer'd him, " There might be Witches;
Nought proved the non-existence of the bitches."
MADAME PIOZZI
When Thrale, as nimble as a Boy at School,
Leap'd, though fatigued with hunting, o'er a Stool;
The Doctor, proud the same grand feat to do,
His powers exerted, and jump'd over too;
And, though he might a broken back bewail,
He scorn'd to be eclips'd by Mister Thrale.
BOZZY
At Ulinish, our Friend, to pass the time,
Regaled us with his Knowledges sublime;
Showed that all sorts of Learning fill'd his knob,
And that in Butchery he could bear a bob.
He sagely told us of the different feat
Employed to kill the Animals we eat.
" An Ox," says he, " in country and in town,
Is by the Butchers constantly knock'd down;
As for that lesser animal, a Calf,
The knock is really not so strong by half;
The beast is only stunn'd; but as for Goats,
And Sheep, and Lambs, the Butchers cut their throats.
Those fellows only want to keep them quiet,
Not choosing that the brutes should breed a riot."
MADAME PIOZZI
When Johnson was a child, and swallowed pap,
'Twas in his Mother's old maid Catherine's lap.
There while he sat, he took in wondrous Learning;
For much his bowels were for Knowledge yearning:
There heard the story we Britons brag on,
The story of Saint George and eke the Dragon.
BOZZY
When Foote his leg, by some misfortune, broke,
Says I to Johnson, all by way of joke,
" Sam, Sir, in Paragraph will soon be clever,
And take off Peter better now than ever."
On which says Johnson, without hesitation,
" George will rejoice at Foote's depeditation ."
On which says I (a penetrating elf!),
" Doctor, I'm sure you coin'd that word yourself."
On which he laugh'd, and said I had divin'd it,
For bonâ fide he had really coin'd it:
" And yet, of all the words I've coin'd," says he,
" My Dictionary, Sir, contains but three."
MADAME PIOZZI
The Doctor said, " In literary matters
A Frenchman goes not deep; he only smatters;"
Then ask'd what could be hoped for from the dogs;
Fellows that lived eternally on Frogs.
BOZZY
In grave procession to St Leonard's College,
Well stuffed with every sort of useful knowledge,
We stately walk'd, as soon as supper ended:
The Landlord and the Waiter both attended.
The Landlord, skill'd a piece of grease to handle,
Before us march'd, and held a tallow Candle;
A Lantern (some famed Scotchman its creator)
With equal grace was carried by the Waiter.
Next morning, from our beds we took a leap,
And found ourselves much better for our sleep.
MADAME PIOZZI
In Lincolnshire, a Lady showed our Friend
A Grotto, that she wish'd him to commend.
Quoth she, " How cool in summer this abode!" —
" Yes, Madam," answer'd Johnson; " for a toad ."
BOZZY
Between old Scalpa's rugged isle and Rasay's,
The wind was vastly boisterous in our faces:
'I was glorious, Johnson's figure to set sight on;
High in the boat, he looked a noble Triton.
But, lo! to damp our pleasure Fate concurs,
For Joe (the blockhead!) lost his Master's spurs:
This for the Rambler's temper was a rubber,
Who wonder'd Joseph could be such a lubber.
MADAME PIOZZI
I ask'd him if he knock'd I om Osborne down;
As such a tale was current through the town.
Says I, " Do tell me, Doctor, what befell." —
" Why, dearest Lady, there is nought to tell:
I ponder'd on the properest mode to treat him;
The dog was impudent, and so I beat him.
Tom, like a fool, proclaim'd his fancied wrongs;
Others that I belaboured, held their tongues."
Did any one, " that he was happy," cry;
Johnson would tell him plumply, 'twas a lie.
A Lady told him she was really so;
On which he sternly answer'd, " Madam, no.
Sickly you are, and ugly; foolish, poor;
And therefore can't be happy , I am sure.
'Twould make a fellow hang himself, whose ear
Were, from such creatures , forced such stuff to hear."
BOZZY
Lo! when we landed on the Isle of Mull,
The megrims got into the Doctor's scull;
With such bad humours he began to fill,
I thought he would not go to Icolmkill:
But, lo! those megrims (wonderful to utter!)
Were banish'd all by tea, and bread and butter. . . .
MADAME PIOZZI
I said, I liked not Goose, and mention'd why:
" One smells it roasting on the spit," quoth I. —
" You , Madam," cried the Doctor with a frown,
" Are always gorging, stuffing something down:
Madam, 'tis very natural to suppose,
If in the pantry you will poke your nose,
Your maw with every sort of victuals swelling,
That you must want the bliss of dinner-smelling."
BOZZY
As at Argyle's grand house my hat I took,
To seek my alehouse, thus began the Duke:
" Pray, Mister Boswell, won't you have some tea?"
To this I made my bow, and did agree.
Then to the drawing-room we both retreated,
Where Lady Betty Hamilton was seated
Close by the Duchess; who, in deep discourse,
Took no more notice of me than a Horse. —
Next day, myself and Doctor Johnson took
Our hats, to go and wait upon the Duke.
Next to himself the Duke did Johnson place;
But I, thank God, sat second to his Grace.
The place was due most surely to my merits;
And, faith, I was in very pretty spirits.
I plainly saw (my penetration such is),
I was not yet in favour with the Duchess.
Thought I, " I am not disconcerted yet;
Before we part, I'll give her Grace a sweat ."
Then looks of intrepidity I put on,
And ask'd her if she'd have a plate of mutton.
This was a glorious deed, must be confess'd;
I knew I was the Duke's and not her guest.
Knowing (as I'm a man of tip-top breeding)
That great folks drink no healths while they are feeding;
I took my glass, and, looking at her Grace,
I stared her like a Devil in the face;
And in respectful terms, as was my duty,
Said I, " My Lady Duchess, I salute ye."
Most audible indeed was my salute,
For which some folks will say I was a Brute:
But faith, it dash'd her, as I knew it would;
But then, I knew that I was flesh and blood.
MADAME PIOZZI
Once at our house, amidst our Attic feasts,
We liken'd our Acquaintances to Beasts;
As for example — some to calves and hogs,
And some to bears and monkeys, cats and dogs.
We said (which charm'd the Doctor much, no doubt),
His Mind was like of Elephants the Snout,
That could pick pins up, yet possess'd the vigour
For trimming well the jacket of a Tiger.
BOZZY
August the fifteenth, Sunday, Mister Scott
Did breakfast with us: when upon the spot,
To him, and unto Doctor Johnson, lo!
Sir William Forbes, so clever, did I show;
A man that doth not after roguery hanker;
A charming Christian, though by trade a Banker;
Made too of good companionable stuff,
And this, I think, is saying full enough.
And yet it is but justice to record,
That when he had the Measles, 'pon my word,
The people seemed in such a dreadful fright,
His house was all surrounded day and night,
As if they apprehended some great evil;
A General Conflagration, or the Devil.
And when he better'd, oh! 'twas grand to see 'em
Like mad folks dance, and hear 'em sing Te Deum .
MADAME PIOZZI
Quoth Johnson, " Who d'ye think my Life will write? "
" Goldsmith," said I Quoth he, " The dog's vile Spite,
Besides the fellow's monstrous love of Lying,
Would doubtless make the Book not worth the buying."
BOZZY
That worthy gentleman, good Mister Scott,
Said, 'twas our Socrates's luckless lot
To have the Waiter, a sad nasty blade,
To make, poor Gentleman! his Lemonade;
Which Waiter, much against the Doctor's wish,
Put with his paws the sugar in the dish.
The Doctor, vexed at such a filthy fellow,
Began, with great propriety, to bellow;
Then up he took the dish, and nobly flung
The liquor out of window on the dung:
And Doctor Scott declared, that, by his frown,
He thought he would have knock'd the fellow down.
MADAME PIOZZI
Dear Doctor Johnson left off Drinks fermented;
With quarts of chocolate and cream contented:
Yet often down his throat's prodigious gutter.
Poor man! he poured a flood of melted butter.
BOZZY
With glee the Doctor did my Girl behold;
Her name Veronica, just four months old.
This name Veronica, a name though quaint,
Belonged originally to a Saint:
But to my old Great-grandam it was given,
As fine a woman as e'er went to Heaven;
And, what must add to her importance much,
This Lady's genealogy was Dutch.
The Man who did espouse this Dame divine,
Was Alexander, Earl of Kincardine;
Who poured along my Body, like a Sluice,
The noble, noble, noble blood of Bruce:
And who that own'd this blood could well refuse
To make the World acquainted with the news ?
But to return unto my charming Child:
About our Doctor Johnson she was wild;
And when he left off speaking, she would flutter,
Squawl for him to begin again, and sputter;
And to be near him a strong wish express'd:
Which proves he was not such a horrid Beast.
Her fondness for the Doctor pleased me greatly;
On which I loud exclaimed in language stately,
Nay, if I recollect aright, I swore ,
I'd to her fortune add five hundred more.
MADAME PIOZZI
One day, as we were all in talking lost,
My Mother's favourite Spaniel stole the toast;
On which immediately I screamed, " Fie on her."
" Fie, Belle," said I, " you used to be on honour." —
" Yes," Johnson cried; " but, Madam, pray be told,
The reason for the vice is, Belle grows old ."
But Johnson never could the Dog abide,
Because my Mother wash'd and comb'd his hide.
The truth on't is, Belle was not too well bred,
But always would insist on being fed;
And very often too, the saucy Slut
Insisted upon having the first cut .
BOZZY
Last night much care for Johnson's Cold was used,
Who hitherto without his nightcap snooz'd .
That nought might treat so wonderful a man ill,
Sweet Miss MacLeod did make a Cap of Flannel;
And, after putting it about his head,
She gave him Brandy as he went to bed.
MADAME PIOZZI
One night we parted at the Doctor's door,
When thus I said, as I had said before:
" Don't forget Dicky, Doctor; mind poor Dick."
On which he turn'd round on his heel so quick;
" Madam," quoth he, " and when I've served that elf,
I guess I then may go and hang myself."
BOZZY
At night, well soak'd with rain, and wondrous weary,
We got as wet as Shags to Inverary.
We supp'd most royally; were vastly frisky;
When Johnson order'd up a gill of Whisky
Taking the glass, says I, " Here's Mistress Thrale." —
" Drink her in Whisky not," said he, " but Ale."
MADAME PIOZZI
The Doctor had a Cat, and christen'd Hodge,
That at his house in Fleet-street used to lodge.
This Hodge grew old, and sick; and used to wish
That all his dinners might be form'd of Fish.
To please poor Hodge, the Doctor, all so kind,
Went out, and bought him Oysters to his mind.
This every day he did; nor ask'd Black Frank,
Who deemed himself of much too high a rank,
With vulgar fish-fags to be forced to chat,
And purchase Oysters for a mangy Cat.
SIR JOHN
For God's sake stay each Anecdotic scrap;
Let me draw breath, and take a trifling nap
With one half-hour's restoring slumber blest,
And Heaven's assistance, I may bear the rest .
Aside .] — What have I done, inform me, gracious Lord,
That thus my ears with nonsense should be bored?
Oh! if I do not in the trial die,
The Devil and all his Brimstone I defy:
No punishment in other worlds I fear;
My crimes will all be expiated here .
Ah! ten times happier was my lot of yore,
When, raised to consequence that all adore,
I sat each session, King-like, in the Chair,
Awed every rank, and made the Million stare;
Lord-paramount o'er every Justice riding,
In causes, with a Turkish sway, deciding.
Yes, like a noble Bashaw of three tails,
I spread a fear and trembling through the Jails
Blest, have I brow-beaten each thief and strumpet,
And blasted on them, like the last day's Trumpet.
I know no paltry weakness of the soul;
No snivelling pity dares my deeds control:
Ashamed, the weakness of my King I hear;
Who, childish, drops on every death a tear.
Return, return again, thou glorious hour
That to my grasp once gavest my idol, Power;
When at my feet the humble knaves would fall,
The thundering Jupiter of Hick's Hall. —
The Knight thus finishing his speech, so fair,
Sleep pulled him gently backward in his chair;
Oped wide the mouth that oft on Jail-birds swore,
Then raised his nasal organ to a roar
That actually surpassed in tone and grace
The grumbled ditties of his favourite Bass.
British Biographers
A Town Eclogue
The Argument
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 Bon-mots 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, by Quotations 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 Shakespeare 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 licence, Dame Piozzi;
Whose widowed name, by Topers loved, was Thrale,
Bright in the annals of Election Ale. . .
Each seized with ardour wild the grey-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.
Forth rush'd to light their Books; but who should say,
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 Knight's 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 two 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 Greybeard sage, whose judgement 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: —
MADAME PIOZZI
Sam Johnson was of Michael Johnson born;
Whose shop of books did Litchfield town adorn:
Wrong-headed, stubborn as a halter'd Ram;
In short, the model of our Hero Sam:
Inclined to madness too; for when his shop
Fell down, for want of cash to buy a prop,
For fear the thieves might steal the vanish'd store
He duly went each night and lock'd the door.
BOZZY
While Johnson was in Edinburgh, my Wife
To please his palate, studied for her life:
With every rarity she fill'd her house,
And gave the Doctor, for his dinner, grouse.
MADAME PIOZZI
Dear Doctor Johnson was in size an Ox;
And from his uncle Andrew learn'd to box:
A man to Wrestlers and to Bruisers dear,
Who kept the ring in Smithfield a whole year.
The Doctor had an uncle too, ador'd
By jumping gentry, called Cornelius Ford;
Who jump'd in Boots, which Jumpers never choose,
Far as a famous Jumper jump'd in Shoes.
BOZZY
At supper rose a dialogue on Witches,
When Crosbie said there could not be such bitches;
And that 'twas blasphemy to think such Hags
Could stir up storms, and on their broomstick Nags
Gallop along the air with wondrous pace,
And boldly fly in God Almighty's face:
But Johnson answer'd him, " There might be Witches;
Nought proved the non-existence of the bitches."
MADAME PIOZZI
When Thrale, as nimble as a Boy at School,
Leap'd, though fatigued with hunting, o'er a Stool;
The Doctor, proud the same grand feat to do,
His powers exerted, and jump'd over too;
And, though he might a broken back bewail,
He scorn'd to be eclips'd by Mister Thrale.
BOZZY
At Ulinish, our Friend, to pass the time,
Regaled us with his Knowledges sublime;
Showed that all sorts of Learning fill'd his knob,
And that in Butchery he could bear a bob.
He sagely told us of the different feat
Employed to kill the Animals we eat.
" An Ox," says he, " in country and in town,
Is by the Butchers constantly knock'd down;
As for that lesser animal, a Calf,
The knock is really not so strong by half;
The beast is only stunn'd; but as for Goats,
And Sheep, and Lambs, the Butchers cut their throats.
Those fellows only want to keep them quiet,
Not choosing that the brutes should breed a riot."
MADAME PIOZZI
When Johnson was a child, and swallowed pap,
'Twas in his Mother's old maid Catherine's lap.
There while he sat, he took in wondrous Learning;
For much his bowels were for Knowledge yearning:
There heard the story we Britons brag on,
The story of Saint George and eke the Dragon.
BOZZY
When Foote his leg, by some misfortune, broke,
Says I to Johnson, all by way of joke,
" Sam, Sir, in Paragraph will soon be clever,
And take off Peter better now than ever."
On which says Johnson, without hesitation,
" George will rejoice at Foote's depeditation ."
On which says I (a penetrating elf!),
" Doctor, I'm sure you coin'd that word yourself."
On which he laugh'd, and said I had divin'd it,
For bonâ fide he had really coin'd it:
" And yet, of all the words I've coin'd," says he,
" My Dictionary, Sir, contains but three."
MADAME PIOZZI
The Doctor said, " In literary matters
A Frenchman goes not deep; he only smatters;"
Then ask'd what could be hoped for from the dogs;
Fellows that lived eternally on Frogs.
BOZZY
In grave procession to St Leonard's College,
Well stuffed with every sort of useful knowledge,
We stately walk'd, as soon as supper ended:
The Landlord and the Waiter both attended.
The Landlord, skill'd a piece of grease to handle,
Before us march'd, and held a tallow Candle;
A Lantern (some famed Scotchman its creator)
With equal grace was carried by the Waiter.
Next morning, from our beds we took a leap,
And found ourselves much better for our sleep.
MADAME PIOZZI
In Lincolnshire, a Lady showed our Friend
A Grotto, that she wish'd him to commend.
Quoth she, " How cool in summer this abode!" —
" Yes, Madam," answer'd Johnson; " for a toad ."
BOZZY
Between old Scalpa's rugged isle and Rasay's,
The wind was vastly boisterous in our faces:
'I was glorious, Johnson's figure to set sight on;
High in the boat, he looked a noble Triton.
But, lo! to damp our pleasure Fate concurs,
For Joe (the blockhead!) lost his Master's spurs:
This for the Rambler's temper was a rubber,
Who wonder'd Joseph could be such a lubber.
MADAME PIOZZI
I ask'd him if he knock'd I om Osborne down;
As such a tale was current through the town.
Says I, " Do tell me, Doctor, what befell." —
" Why, dearest Lady, there is nought to tell:
I ponder'd on the properest mode to treat him;
The dog was impudent, and so I beat him.
Tom, like a fool, proclaim'd his fancied wrongs;
Others that I belaboured, held their tongues."
Did any one, " that he was happy," cry;
Johnson would tell him plumply, 'twas a lie.
A Lady told him she was really so;
On which he sternly answer'd, " Madam, no.
Sickly you are, and ugly; foolish, poor;
And therefore can't be happy , I am sure.
'Twould make a fellow hang himself, whose ear
Were, from such creatures , forced such stuff to hear."
BOZZY
Lo! when we landed on the Isle of Mull,
The megrims got into the Doctor's scull;
With such bad humours he began to fill,
I thought he would not go to Icolmkill:
But, lo! those megrims (wonderful to utter!)
Were banish'd all by tea, and bread and butter. . . .
MADAME PIOZZI
I said, I liked not Goose, and mention'd why:
" One smells it roasting on the spit," quoth I. —
" You , Madam," cried the Doctor with a frown,
" Are always gorging, stuffing something down:
Madam, 'tis very natural to suppose,
If in the pantry you will poke your nose,
Your maw with every sort of victuals swelling,
That you must want the bliss of dinner-smelling."
BOZZY
As at Argyle's grand house my hat I took,
To seek my alehouse, thus began the Duke:
" Pray, Mister Boswell, won't you have some tea?"
To this I made my bow, and did agree.
Then to the drawing-room we both retreated,
Where Lady Betty Hamilton was seated
Close by the Duchess; who, in deep discourse,
Took no more notice of me than a Horse. —
Next day, myself and Doctor Johnson took
Our hats, to go and wait upon the Duke.
Next to himself the Duke did Johnson place;
But I, thank God, sat second to his Grace.
The place was due most surely to my merits;
And, faith, I was in very pretty spirits.
I plainly saw (my penetration such is),
I was not yet in favour with the Duchess.
Thought I, " I am not disconcerted yet;
Before we part, I'll give her Grace a sweat ."
Then looks of intrepidity I put on,
And ask'd her if she'd have a plate of mutton.
This was a glorious deed, must be confess'd;
I knew I was the Duke's and not her guest.
Knowing (as I'm a man of tip-top breeding)
That great folks drink no healths while they are feeding;
I took my glass, and, looking at her Grace,
I stared her like a Devil in the face;
And in respectful terms, as was my duty,
Said I, " My Lady Duchess, I salute ye."
Most audible indeed was my salute,
For which some folks will say I was a Brute:
But faith, it dash'd her, as I knew it would;
But then, I knew that I was flesh and blood.
MADAME PIOZZI
Once at our house, amidst our Attic feasts,
We liken'd our Acquaintances to Beasts;
As for example — some to calves and hogs,
And some to bears and monkeys, cats and dogs.
We said (which charm'd the Doctor much, no doubt),
His Mind was like of Elephants the Snout,
That could pick pins up, yet possess'd the vigour
For trimming well the jacket of a Tiger.
BOZZY
August the fifteenth, Sunday, Mister Scott
Did breakfast with us: when upon the spot,
To him, and unto Doctor Johnson, lo!
Sir William Forbes, so clever, did I show;
A man that doth not after roguery hanker;
A charming Christian, though by trade a Banker;
Made too of good companionable stuff,
And this, I think, is saying full enough.
And yet it is but justice to record,
That when he had the Measles, 'pon my word,
The people seemed in such a dreadful fright,
His house was all surrounded day and night,
As if they apprehended some great evil;
A General Conflagration, or the Devil.
And when he better'd, oh! 'twas grand to see 'em
Like mad folks dance, and hear 'em sing Te Deum .
MADAME PIOZZI
Quoth Johnson, " Who d'ye think my Life will write? "
" Goldsmith," said I Quoth he, " The dog's vile Spite,
Besides the fellow's monstrous love of Lying,
Would doubtless make the Book not worth the buying."
BOZZY
That worthy gentleman, good Mister Scott,
Said, 'twas our Socrates's luckless lot
To have the Waiter, a sad nasty blade,
To make, poor Gentleman! his Lemonade;
Which Waiter, much against the Doctor's wish,
Put with his paws the sugar in the dish.
The Doctor, vexed at such a filthy fellow,
Began, with great propriety, to bellow;
Then up he took the dish, and nobly flung
The liquor out of window on the dung:
And Doctor Scott declared, that, by his frown,
He thought he would have knock'd the fellow down.
MADAME PIOZZI
Dear Doctor Johnson left off Drinks fermented;
With quarts of chocolate and cream contented:
Yet often down his throat's prodigious gutter.
Poor man! he poured a flood of melted butter.
BOZZY
With glee the Doctor did my Girl behold;
Her name Veronica, just four months old.
This name Veronica, a name though quaint,
Belonged originally to a Saint:
But to my old Great-grandam it was given,
As fine a woman as e'er went to Heaven;
And, what must add to her importance much,
This Lady's genealogy was Dutch.
The Man who did espouse this Dame divine,
Was Alexander, Earl of Kincardine;
Who poured along my Body, like a Sluice,
The noble, noble, noble blood of Bruce:
And who that own'd this blood could well refuse
To make the World acquainted with the news ?
But to return unto my charming Child:
About our Doctor Johnson she was wild;
And when he left off speaking, she would flutter,
Squawl for him to begin again, and sputter;
And to be near him a strong wish express'd:
Which proves he was not such a horrid Beast.
Her fondness for the Doctor pleased me greatly;
On which I loud exclaimed in language stately,
Nay, if I recollect aright, I swore ,
I'd to her fortune add five hundred more.
MADAME PIOZZI
One day, as we were all in talking lost,
My Mother's favourite Spaniel stole the toast;
On which immediately I screamed, " Fie on her."
" Fie, Belle," said I, " you used to be on honour." —
" Yes," Johnson cried; " but, Madam, pray be told,
The reason for the vice is, Belle grows old ."
But Johnson never could the Dog abide,
Because my Mother wash'd and comb'd his hide.
The truth on't is, Belle was not too well bred,
But always would insist on being fed;
And very often too, the saucy Slut
Insisted upon having the first cut .
BOZZY
Last night much care for Johnson's Cold was used,
Who hitherto without his nightcap snooz'd .
That nought might treat so wonderful a man ill,
Sweet Miss MacLeod did make a Cap of Flannel;
And, after putting it about his head,
She gave him Brandy as he went to bed.
MADAME PIOZZI
One night we parted at the Doctor's door,
When thus I said, as I had said before:
" Don't forget Dicky, Doctor; mind poor Dick."
On which he turn'd round on his heel so quick;
" Madam," quoth he, " and when I've served that elf,
I guess I then may go and hang myself."
BOZZY
At night, well soak'd with rain, and wondrous weary,
We got as wet as Shags to Inverary.
We supp'd most royally; were vastly frisky;
When Johnson order'd up a gill of Whisky
Taking the glass, says I, " Here's Mistress Thrale." —
" Drink her in Whisky not," said he, " but Ale."
MADAME PIOZZI
The Doctor had a Cat, and christen'd Hodge,
That at his house in Fleet-street used to lodge.
This Hodge grew old, and sick; and used to wish
That all his dinners might be form'd of Fish.
To please poor Hodge, the Doctor, all so kind,
Went out, and bought him Oysters to his mind.
This every day he did; nor ask'd Black Frank,
Who deemed himself of much too high a rank,
With vulgar fish-fags to be forced to chat,
And purchase Oysters for a mangy Cat.
SIR JOHN
For God's sake stay each Anecdotic scrap;
Let me draw breath, and take a trifling nap
With one half-hour's restoring slumber blest,
And Heaven's assistance, I may bear the rest .
Aside .] — What have I done, inform me, gracious Lord,
That thus my ears with nonsense should be bored?
Oh! if I do not in the trial die,
The Devil and all his Brimstone I defy:
No punishment in other worlds I fear;
My crimes will all be expiated here .
Ah! ten times happier was my lot of yore,
When, raised to consequence that all adore,
I sat each session, King-like, in the Chair,
Awed every rank, and made the Million stare;
Lord-paramount o'er every Justice riding,
In causes, with a Turkish sway, deciding.
Yes, like a noble Bashaw of three tails,
I spread a fear and trembling through the Jails
Blest, have I brow-beaten each thief and strumpet,
And blasted on them, like the last day's Trumpet.
I know no paltry weakness of the soul;
No snivelling pity dares my deeds control:
Ashamed, the weakness of my King I hear;
Who, childish, drops on every death a tear.
Return, return again, thou glorious hour
That to my grasp once gavest my idol, Power;
When at my feet the humble knaves would fall,
The thundering Jupiter of Hick's Hall. —
The Knight thus finishing his speech, so fair,
Sleep pulled him gently backward in his chair;
Oped wide the mouth that oft on Jail-birds swore,
Then raised his nasal organ to a roar
That actually surpassed in tone and grace
The grumbled ditties of his favourite Bass.
Translation:
Language:
Reviews
No reviews yet.