Is Johnson dead, and not one Bard To light his honour'd fun'ral Pile? My feeble Muse, the Task how hard, Shall sing the Genius of the Isle. Good, great, and glorious was his Life; Humanity all his constant Aim. Preventive of all future Strife Heaven took him, whence there is no Claim. New North-Street, Dec. 18, 1784.
