"Since 'tis my doom, Love's undershrieve, Why this reprieve? Why doth she my advowson fly, Incumbency? To sell thyself dost thou intend By candle's end; And hold the contract thus in doubt, Life's taper out? Think but how soon the market fails," &c. Who can tolerate, after being raised to some expectation by a beginning like the following, the end which comes? "Begin the song, and strike the living lyre: Lo! how the years to come a numerous and well-fitted quire, All hand in hand do decently advance, And to my song with smooth and equal measure dance; While the dance lasts, how long soe'er it be, My music's voice shall bear it company, Till all gentle notes be drowned In the last trumpet's dreadful sound. *...*...*...* But stop, my muse-- Hold thy Pindaric Pegasus closely in, Which does to rage begin-- 'Tis an unruly and a hard-mouthed horse 'Twill no unskillful touch endure, But flings writer and reader too that sits not sure." As a specimen of his fiction, Johnson has quoted his description of the Archangel Gabriel: "He took for skin a cloud most soft and bright, That e'er the mid-day sun pierced through with light; Upon his cheeks a lively blush he spread, Washed from the morning beauties' deepest red; An harmless, fluttering meteor shone for hair, And fell adown his shoulders with loose care; He cuts out a silk mantle from the skies, Where the most sprightly azure pleased the eyes; This he with starry vapors sprinkles all, Took in their prime before they grow ripe and fall; Of a new rainbow, ere it fret or fade, The choicest piece cut out, a scarf is made."