Amidst the melancholy clouds which hung over the dying Johnson, his characteristical manner shewed itself on different occasions.

When Dr. Warren, in the usual style, hoped that he was better; his answer was, ’No, Sir; you cannot conceive with what acceleration I advance towards death.’

A man whom he had never seen before was employed one night to sit up with him[1253].  Being asked next morning how he liked his attendant, his answer was, ’Not at all, Sir:  the fellow’s an ideot; he is as aukward as a turn-spit when first put into the wheel, and as sleepy as a dormouse.’

Mr. Windham having placed a pillow conveniently to support him, he thanked him for his kindness, and said, ’That will do,—­all that a pillow can do.’

He repeated[1254] with great spirit a poem, consisting of several stanzas, in four lines, in alternate rhyme, which he said he had composed some years before, on occasion of a rich, extravagant young gentleman’s coming of age; saying he had never repeated it but once since he composed it, and had given but one copy of it.  That copy was given to Mrs. Thrale, now Piozzi, who has published it in a Book which she entitles British Synonymy[1255], but which is truly a collection of entertaining remarks and stories, no matter whether accurate or not.  Being a piece of exquisite satire, conveyed in a strain of pointed vivacity and humour, and in a manner of which no other instance is to be found in Johnson’s writings, I shall here insert it[1256]:—­

     Long-expected one-and-twenty,
       Ling’ring year, at length is flown;
     Pride and pleasure, pomp and plenty,
       Great —–­ ——­[1257], are now your own.

     Loosen’d from the Minor’s tether,
       Free to mortgage or to sell,
     Wild as wind, and light as feather,
       Bid the sons of thrift farewell.

     Call the Betseys, Kates, and Jennies,
       All the names that banish care;
     Lavish of your grandsire’s guineas,
       Shew the spirit of an heir.

     All that prey on vice or folly
       Joy to see their quarry fly;
     There the gamester, light and jolly,
       There the lender, grave and sly.

     Wealth, my lad, was made to wander,
       Let it wander as it will;
     Call the jockey, call the pander,
       Bid them come and take their fill.

     When the bonny blade carouses,
       Pockets full, and spirits high—­
     What are acres? what are houses? 
       Only dirt, or wet or dry.

     Should the guardian friend or mother
       Tell the woes of wilful waste;
     Scorn their counsel, scorn their pother,—­
       You can hang or drown at last.

As he opened a note which his servant brought to him, he said, ’An odd thought strikes me:  we shall receive no letters in the grave[1258].’

He requested three things of Sir Joshua Reynolds:—­To forgive him thirty pounds which he had borrowed of him; to read the Bible; and never to use his pencil on a Sunday[1259].  Sir Joshua readily acquiesced[1260].