ON JOHNSON
I OWN I like not Johnson’s turgid style,
That gives an inch th’ importance of a mile;
Casts of manure a wagon-load around,
To raise a simple daisy from the ground;
Uplifts the club of Hercules—for what?
To crush a butterfly or brain a gnat;
Creates a whirlwind from the earth, to draw
A goose’s feather or exalt a straw;
Sets wheels on wheels in motion—such a clatter—
To force up one poor nipperkin of water;
Bids ocean labour with tremendous roar
To heave a cockle-shell upon the shore;
Alike in every theme his pompous art,
Heaven’s awful thunder or a rumbling cart!
John Wolcott (Peter Pindar).