66 But, brother sinner, do explain How 'tis that you are not in pain? What power hath worked a wonder for your toes? Now swearing, now on saints devoutly bawling, "How is't that you can like a greyhound go, 66 As merry as if nought had happened, burn ye?" "Why," cried the other, grinning, "you must know That, just before I ventured on my journey, To walk a little more at ease I took the liberty to boil my peas." THE SAILOR-BOY AT PRAYERS. A GREAT Law Chief whom God nor demon scares, Admiring such a novel mode of sinning : Like this, a subject would be reckoned rare, Which nothing but an English tar would act. In ships of war, on Sundays, prayers are given ; Where, if they find no brandy to get drunk, Then vow they to the Almighty to reform, He'll suffer them to clap a foot on shore. In calms, indeed, or gentle airs, They ne'er on week-days pester Heaven with prayers; For 'tis amongst the Jacks a common saying, "Where there's no danger, there's no need of praying." One Sunday morning all were met To hear the parson preach and pray; All but a boy, who, willing to forget That prayers were handing out, had stolen away; And, thinking praying but a useless task, Had crawled, to take a nap, into a cask. The boy was soon found missing, and full soon Gave him a clawing to some tune This cat's a cousin-germane to the knout. "Come out, you skulking dog," the boatswain cried, And turned him like a badger from his hole. Sulky the boy marched on, and did not mind him, BOZZY AND PIOZZI; OR, THE BRITISH BIOGRAPHERS. A PAIR OF TOWN ECLOGUES. 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.-Amongst the most zealous, though not the most enlightened, appeared Mr. Boswell and Madame Piozzi, the hero and heroine of our Eclogues.-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. PART I. WHEN Johnson sought (as Shakspeare says) that bourn In humbler English, when the Doctor died,- And like a hearse the hill was hung with black. Pronounced, with lengthened face, the world undone ; That people might have heard the bird a mile. "Who" (cried the world) "can match his prose or rhyme? Strong, 'midst the Rambler's cronies, was the rage At length, rushed forth two candidates for fame,—— Whose widowed name, by topers loved, was Thrale, A name, by marriage, that gave up the ghost, In poor Pedocchio-no, Piozzi-lost! Each seized, with ardour wild, the grey goose-quill: Each sat, to work the intellectual mill, That pecks of bran so coarse began to pour To one small solitary grain of flour. Forth rushed 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 2 palavers 1 The author was nearly committing a blunder. Fortunate indeed was his recollection, as Pedocchio signifies, in the Italian language, that most contemptible of all animals, a louse. 2 Vide his History of Music. The prince, the king, the emperor of quavers; Whose volume, though it here and there offends, High-placed, the venerable quarto sits,— Poor prostitutes to every vulgar thumb,- He bears a spotless leaf from age to age. Like schoolboys, lo! before a two-armed chair Or patriot Burke for giving glorious bastings Thus with their songs contended Virgil's swains, Alternately in anecdotes go on; But first begin you, madam," cried Sir John.- MADAME PIOZZI. Sam Johnson was of Michael Johnson born, Whose shop of books did Lichfield town adorn : Wrong-headed, stubborn as a haltered 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 vanished store, He duly went each night, and locked the door! BOZZY. Whilst Johnson was in Edinburgh, my wife, To please his palate, studied for her life; With every rarity she filled 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 learned to box,— A man to wrestlers and to bruisers dear, Who kept the ring in Smithfield a whole year. BOZZY. At supper, rose a dialogue on witches, When Crosbie said there could not be such bitches; And boldly fly in God Almighty's face. But Johnson answered him, "There might be witchesNought proved the non-existence of the bitches." MADAME PIOZZI When Thrale, as nimble as a boy at school, BOZZY. At Ulinish, our friend, to pass the time, "An ox," says he, "in country and in town, The knock is really not so strong by half; The beast is only stunned: 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, BOZZY. When Foote his leg by some misfortune broke, Says I to Johnson, all by way of joke, 66 'Sam, Sir, in Paragraph, will soon be clever, And take off Peter better now than ever.' |