Dean

Here lies the good Dean*, re-united to earth,
Who mixed reason with pleasure, and wisdom with mirth:
If he had any faults, he has left us in doubt,
At least, in six weeks, I could not find 'em out;
Yet some have declared, and it can't be denied 'em,
That sly-boots was cursedly cunning to hide 'em.

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*Dean
Dr. Thomas Barnard, an Irishman, at this
time Dean of Derry. He died at Wimbledon in 1806. It was Dr.
Barnard who, in reply to a rude sally of Johnson, wrote the
charming verses on improvement after the age of forty-five,
which end -

If I have thoughts, and can't express them,
Gibbon shall teach me how to dress them,
In terms select and terse;
Jones teach me modesty and Greek,
Smith how to think, Burke how to speak,
And Beauclerk to converse.
Let Johnson teach me how to place
In fairest light, each borrowed grace,
From him I'll learn to write;
Copy his clear, familiar style,
And from the roughness of his file
Grow like himself - polite.

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