“Dar’st thou pretend that, meaning praise, Thou seek’st to raise my name; When all thy babbling pen betrays But gives me churlish fame? “Do readers in these annals trace The man that’s wise and good? No!――rather one of savage race, Illib’ral, fierce, and rude: “A traveller, whose discontent No kindness can appease; Who finds for spleen perpetual vent In all he hears and sees: “One whose ingratitude displays The most ungracious guest; Who hospitality repays With bitter, biting jest. “Ah! would, as o’er the hills we sped, And climb’d the sterile rocks, Some vengeful stone had struck thee dead, Or steeple, spar’d by Knox! “Thy adulation now I see, And all its schemes unfold: Thy av’rice, Boswell, cherish’d me, To turn me into gold. “So keepers guard the beasts they show, And for their wants provide; Attend their steps where’er they go, And travel by their side. “O! were it not that, deep and low, Beyond thy reach I’m laid, Rapacious Boswell had e’er now Johnson a mummy made.” He ceased, and stalk’d from Boswell’s sight With fierce indignant mien, Scornful as Ajax, sullen sprite, By Sage Ulysses seen. Dead paleness Boswell’s cheek o’erspread, His limbs with horror shook; With trembling haste he left his bed, And burnt his fatal book. And thrice he called on Johnson’s name, Forgiveness to implore! Then thrice repeated――“Injured fame!” And word――wrote never more. ―――― The following ballad, which was once very popular among the lower orders, is said to be founded on “William and Margaret”:―― GILES SCROGGIN’S GHOST. Giles Scroggin courted Molly Brown, The fairest wench in all our town, Fol de riddle lol, de riddle lido. He bought her a ring with a posy true, If you loves me, as I loves you, No knife can cut our loves in two. Fol de riddle, etc. But scissors cuts, as well as knives, And quite unsartain’s all our lives, Fol de riddle, etc. The day they were to have been wed, Fate’s scissors cut poor Giles’s thread, So they could not be mar――ri――ed. Fol de riddle, etc. Poor Molly laid her down to weep, And cried herself quite fast asleep, Fol de riddle, etc. When standing fast by her bed-post, A figure tall her sight engrossed, It cried, “I be Giles Scroggin’s ghost,” Fol de riddle, etc. The ghost it said all solemnly, “Oh! Molly, you must go with I, Fol de riddle, etc. All to the grave your love to cool.” Says she, “Why, I’m not dead, you fool,” Says the ghost, says he, “Vy, that’s no rule.” Fol de riddle, etc.