ODE. James Boswell Alexander Huber Editor Bodleian Libraries, University of Oxford
Broad Street Oxford OX1 3BG UK
Eighteenth-Century Poetry Archive
Taylor Institution Library St Giles' Oxford OX1 3NA UK info@eighteenthcenturypoetry.org https://www.eighteenthcenturypoetry.org/
Oxford This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 Unported License. T2407 K021475.000 Boswell, James, 1740-1795. Johnson, Samuel, 1709-1784. Ode by Dr. Samuel Johnson to Mrs. Thrale, upon their supposed approaching nuptials. London printed for R. Faulder 1784 pp. []-16. 16p.; 4⁰.

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ODE . 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 . 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 . 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 . 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 . 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 . 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 .