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ODE BY Dr. SAMUEL JOHNSON TO Mrs. THRALE.

[PRICE ONE SHILLING.]

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ODE BY DR. SAMUEL JOHNSON TO MRS. THRALE, UPON THEIR SUPPOSED APPROACHING NUPTIALS.

—Tauri ruentis
In venerem tolerare pondus.—
HOR.

LONDON: PRINTED FOR R. FAULDER, NEW-BOND-STREET. M DCC LXXXIV.

PREFACE BY THE EDITOR.

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MR. HENRY THRALE, brewer, in the borough of Southwark (I ſay it without flattery, or intereſted hopes of reward from his ſurviving relict and daughters), was one of the moſt eminent and opulent traders that England ever had. He was, moreover, a well-built, ſtout man, in his perſon. His wife, Mrs. Heſter Lynch, whoſe maiden name was Saluſbury, was of creditable Welch extraction. She was rather a little woman, but ſmart, of pregnant parts, and ſome ſhare of book-learning. They kept a very plentiful table, both for meat and drink, to which thoſe who are called Wits, and alſo many ingenious artiſts, gladly repaired as to a convenient houſe of call, where they had nothing to pay, except their court to Mrs. Thrale, who doubtleſs deſerved, while ſhe was flattered by their compliments. The moſt diſtinguiſhed of them, and, as one may ſay, the foreman of the whole, was Dr. SAMUEL JOHNSON, the celebrated Lichfield authour, who wrote an Engliſh Dictionary, and ſeveral works of a good moral tendency, and was famous, beſides, for ſhrewd ſayings and lively jokes. He was a very large man, and by no means well-looking, but rather the contrary; neither was he neat and cleanly in his perſon and dreſs. He was, notwithſtanding, a [6] no ſmall favourite with Mrs. Thrale, both in her huſband's life-time, and for ſome ſhort while after; and from a collection of their letters, which is extant, and has been put forth in print by herſelf, it appears that there was no over-delicate niceneſs, but truly the plaineſt familiarity between them; as witneſs theſe, and the like paſſages:—"I hope, in time, to be like the great bull." lett. 34.—"Dr. Taylor deſires always to have his compliments ſent. He is, in his uſual way, very buſy getting a bull to his cows, and a dog to his bitches. Old Shakeſpeare is dead, and he wants to buy another horſe to his mares." lett. 180.—"You muſt take the chance of finding me, better or worſe. This you may know at preſent, that my affection for you is not diminiſhed, and my expectation from you is increaſed." lett. 277.—"I am harraſſed by a very diſagreeable operation of the cantharides, which I am endeavouring to control by copious dilution." lett. 303.—"On the 19th of laſt month I evacuated twenty pints of water." lett. 342.

Mr. Thrale and his wife had a family of five daughters, to whom they did not grudge to give every piece of genteel education. Signor Baretti was entertained in the houſe, at bed and board, to teach them the Italian tongue; and Signor Piozzi, it is believed, was liberally rewarded for teaching them to ſing, and play on the harpſichord. Mrs. Thrale had not an ear, as the ſaying is, but ſhe had an eye to this her daughter's muſicmaſter, [7] who, it appears, by her ſaid publication, was permitted to love her. "Piozzi, I find, is coming, and when he comes, and I come, you will have two about you that love you." lett. 275. This was in her widowhood; and indeed it is plain that Dr. Samuel Johnſon himſelf had then alſo pretenſions to her; the diſappointment of which, by her preference of Signor Piozzi, whom ſhe afterwards married, no doubt contributed, with other conſiderations, to his writing that ſevere anſwer on her informing him of her reſolution, which anſwer ſhe has very prudently ſuppreſſed.

Indeed, recently after the death of Mr. Henry Thrale, there were not wanting many who conjectured that a matrimonial union would take place between the widow and Dr. Samuel Johnſon; and ſome went ſo far as to aſſert, that it was his determined purpoſe, not only to carry on the buſineſs under the firm of the brewery, but even to aſſume the name and arms of Thrale. Upon this foundation, and no better, the bellman, or ſome other ſuch rhymſter of the Borough, bantered the buſineſs in the following homely lines:

Hail, Johnſon!
Thrale Johnſon,
Brewer of good ale, Johnſon;
While thus you drive ſo bold a trade,
Your caſh will never ſail, Johnſon.
Though Madam's ſomewhat ſtale, Johnſon,
You'll find ſhe'll yet be frail, Johnſon;
For many years ſhe tried your head,
And now ſhe'll try—, Johnſon.

[8] Whether it was that a copy of this balderdaſh reached Dr. Samuel Johnſon, and made him anxious leſt poſterity ſhould look upon his tender paſſion as of a very coarſe and vulgar nature, or whether he was merely incited by her blandiſhments to give a ſpecimen of his juvenile vivacity, or from whatever other cauſe, it would ſeem, that in the confidence of their being ſpeedily joined in marriage, he ſent her the following wedding verſes; of which, it is probable, ſhe gave a copy to Signor Baretti, or to ſome other perſon with whom ſhe at that time was intimate.

The ſame having, by ſome ſtrange chance, fallen into my hands, I thought I could not do better than lay them before the publick.

With reſpect to their being certainly written by Dr. Samuel Johnſon, I honeſtly confeſs I am no judge of ſuch matters, and therefore will not pretend to ſay any thing of my own knowledge upon that head. But I am well aſſured by a perſon of ſkill, that they have the undoubted ſterling mark, and that no other man in the kingdom could make them but himſelf.

ARGUMENT.

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THE Poet, pleaſed with the reminiſcence of his poetical powers, prepares to concentrate them in his Miſtreſs—He proſtrates his dignity to her in verſatility of character—Plumes himſelf on his fancied felicity, and, by a bold image, equal to any in Anacreon, at once perſonifies, and perſonates that Beer which was the glory of her houſe—Touches on his jealouſy of Signor Piozzi—Exults in his ſuppoſed victory over his rival—Deſcribes the congratulations on the nuptials between him and his deareſt dear lady; but characteriſtically hints at the malignity of human nature—Repreſents the envy with which their happineſs is beheld—Weary of continence, ſolaces himſelf with the proſpect of future enjoyment—Paints it with vigorous ſtrokes and glowing colours—Takes care to give it the delicate ſanction of ſentiment—Aſſumes a reflex honour, by projecting illuſtrious matches for his lady's daughters by her firſt huſband; but maintains his own ſuperiority, by figuring himſelf the father of an heir male—Concludes, in mythological enthuſiaſm, that he is greater than Atlas.

ODE.

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IF e'er my fingers touch'd the lyre,
In ſatire fierce, in pleaſure gay,
Shall not my THRALIA'S ſmiles inſpire?
Shall SAM refuſe the ſportive lay?
My deareſt lady! view your ſlave,
Behold him as your very SCRUB,
Eager to write as authour grave,
Or govern well the brewing tub.
[12]
To rich felicity thus rais'd,
My boſom glows with amorous fire;
Porter no longer ſhall be prais'd;
'Tis I MYSELF am Thrale's Entire!
PIOZZI once alarm'd my fears,
Till beauteous MARY'S tragick fate
And RIZZIO'S tale diſſolv'd in tears
My miſtreſs, ere it was too late.
[13]
Indignant thought to Engliſh pride!
That any eye ſhould ever ſee
JOHNSON one moment ſet aſide
For Tweedledum or Tweedledee.
Congratulating crowds ſhall come,
Our new-born happineſs to hail,
Whether at ball, at rout, at drum;
—But human ſpite will ſtill prevail.
[14]
For though they come in pleaſing guiſe,
And cry, "The wiſe deſerve the fair!"
They look aſkance with envious eyes,
As Satan look'd at the firſt pair.
Aſcetick now thy lover lives,
Nor dares to touch, nor dares to kiſs;
Yet prurient fancy ſometimes gives
A prelibation of our bliſs.
[15]
Convuls'd in love's tumultuous throws,
We feel the aphrodiſian ſpaſm;
Tir'd nature muſt, at laſt, repoſe,
Then Wit and Wiſdom fill the chaſm.
Nor only are our limbs entwin'd,
And lip in rapture glued to lip;
Lock'd in embraces of the mind;
Imagination's ſweets we ſip.
[16]
Five daughters by a former ſpouſe
Shall match with nobles of the land;
The fruit of our more fervent vows
A pillar of the ſtate ſhall ſtand!
Greater than Atlas was of yore,
A nobler charge to me is given;
The ſphere he on his ſhoulders bore,
I, with my arms, encircle Heaven!
THE END.
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Citation Suggestion for this Object
TextGrid Repository (2020). TEI. 3613 Ode by Dr Samuel Johnson to Mrs Thrale upon their supposed approaching nuptials. University of Oxford Text Archive. . https://hdl.handle.net/21.T11991/0000-001A-609E-6