towards
it half a minute before:

"Oft in danger, yet alive,
We are come to thirty-five;
Long may better years arrive,
Better years than thirty-five.
Could philosophers contrive
Life to stop at thirty-five,
Time his hours should never drive
O'er the bounds of thirty-five.
High to soar, and deep to dive,
Nature gives at thirty-five.
Ladies, stock and tend your hive,
Trifle not at thirty-five:
For howe'er we boast and strive,
Life declines from thirty-five.
He that ever hopes to thrive
Must begin by thirty-five;
And all who wisely wish to wive
Must look on Thrale at thirty-five."

"And now," said he, as I was writing them down, "you may see what it is
to come for poetry to a dictionary-maker; you may observe that the rhymes
run in alphabetical order exactly." And so they do.

Mr. Johnson did indeed possess an almost Tuscan power of improvisation.
When he called to my daughter, who was consulting with a friend about a
new gown and dressed hat she thought of wearing to an assembly, thus
suddenly, while she hoped he was not listening to their conversation--

"Wear the gown and wear the hat,
Snatch thy pleasures while they last;
Hadst thou nine lives like a cat,
Soon those nine lives would be past."

It is impossible to deny to such little sallies the power of the
Florentines, who do not permit their verses to be ever written down,
though they often deserve it, because, as they express it, Cosi se perde-
rebbe la poca gloria.

As for translations, we used to make him sometimes run off with one or
two in a good humour. He was praising this song of Metastasio:--

"Deh, se piacermi vuoi,
Lascia i sospetti tuoi,
Non mi turbar conquesto
Molesto dubitar:
Chi ciecamente crede,
Impegna a serbar fede:
Chi sempre inganno aspetta,
Alletta ad ingannar."

"Should you like it in English," said he, "thus?"

"Would you hope to gain my heart,
Bid your teasing doubts depart;
He who blindly trusts, will find
Faith from every generous mind:
He who still expects deceit,
Only teaches how to cheat."

Mr. Baretti coaxed him likewise one day at Streatham out of a translation
of Emirena's speech to the false courtier Aquileius, and it is probably
printed before now, as I think two or three people took copies; but
perhaps it has slipped their memories.

"Ah!