'I am, Sir, &c.
'SAM. JOHNSON.'
'London, Johnson's-court, Fleet-street,
Oct. 24, 1767.'

Mr. Cuthbert Shaw[87], alike distinguished by his genius, misfortunes,
and misconduct, published this year a poem, called _The Race_, by
'Mercurius Spur, Esq.[88],' in which he whimsically made the living poets
of England contend for pre-eminence of fame by running:

'Prove by their heels the prowess of the head.'

In this poem there was the following portrait of Johnson:

'Here Johnson comes,--unblest with outward grace,
His rigid morals stamp'd upon his face.
While strong conceptions struggle in his brain;
(For even wit is brought to bed with pain:)
To view him, porters with their loads would rest,
And babes cling frighted to the nurse's breast.
With looks convuls'd he roars in pompous strain,
And, like an angry lion, shakes his mane.
The Nine, with terrour struck, who ne'er had seen,
Aught human with so horrible a mien,
Debating whether they should stay or run,
Virtue steps forth, and claims him for her son:
With gentle speech she warns him now to yield,
Nor stain his glories in the doubtful field;
But wrapt in conscious worth, content sit down,
Since Fame, resolv'd his various pleas to crown,