It begins thus:
'Eblana! much lov'd city, hail!
Where first I saw the light of day.'
And after a solemn reflection on his being 'numbered with forgotten
dead,' there is the following stanza:
'Unless my lines protract my fame,
And those, who chance to read them, cry,
I knew him! Derrick was his name,
In yonder tomb his ashes lie.'
Which was thus happily parodied by Mr. John Home, to whom we owe the
beautiful and pathetick tragedy of _Douglas_:
'Unless my _deeds_ protract my fame,
_And he who passes sadly sings_,
I knew him! Derrick was his name,
_On yonder tree his carcase swings_!'
[Page 457: A day at Greenwich. AEtat 54.]
I doubt much whether the amiable and ingenious author of these burlesque
lines will recollect them, for they were produced extempore one evening
while he and I were walking together in the dining-room at Eglintoune
Castle, in 1760, and I have never mentioned them to him since.
Johnson said once to me, 'Sir, I honour Derrick for his presence of
mind. One night, when Floyd[1344], another poor authour, was wandering
about the streets in the night, he found Derrick fast asleep upon a
bulk[1345]; upon being suddenly waked, Derrick started up, "My dear
Floyd, I am sorry to see you in this destitute state; will you go home
with me to _my lodgings_?"'
I again begged his advice as to my method of study at Utrecht. 'Come,
(said he) let us make a day of it.
Pages:
449
450
451
452
453
454
455
456
457
458
459
460
461
462
463
464
465
466
467
468
469
470
471
472
473