See Manning and Bray’s Surrey, ii. 788. where the countess’s issue is also given.  See, also, Christian’s note on Blackstone’s Com. iv. p. 65.  It is remarkable, that when Johnson was asked, at a late period of his life, to whom he had alluded, under the name of Sedley, he said, that he had quite forgotten.  See note on Idler, No. 36.—­Ed.

London; A poem: 

IN IMITATION OF

THE THIRD SATIRE OF JUVENAL

Written in 1738.

—­Quis ineptae
Tam patiens urbis, tam ferreus ut teneat se?  JUV.

[a]Though grief and fondness in my breast rebel,
When injur’d Thales bids the town farewell,
Yet still my calmer thoughts his choice commend,
I praise the hermit, but regret the friend;
Resolv’d at length, from vice and London far,
To breathe, in distant fields, a purer air,
And, fix’d on Cambria’s solitary shore,
Give to St. David one true Briton more.
[b]For who would leave, unbrib’d, Hibernia’s land,
Or change the rocks of Scotland for the Strand? 
There none are swept by sudden fate away,
But all, whom hunger spares, with age decay: 
Here malice, rapine, accident, conspire,
And now a rabble rages, now a fire;
Their ambush here relentless ruffians lay,
And here the fell attorney prowls for prey;
Here falling houses thunder on your head,
And here a female atheist talks you dead.
   [c]While Thales waits the wherry, that contains
Of dissipated wealth the small remains,
On Thames’s banks, in silent thought, we stood
Where Greenwich smiles upon the silver flood;
Struck with the seat that gave Eliza[A] birth,
We kneel, and kiss the consecrated earth;
In pleasing dreams the blissful age renew,
And call Britannia’s glories back to view;
Behold her cross triumphant on the main,
The guard of commerce, and the dread of Spain,
Ere masquerades debauch’d, excise oppress’d
Or English honour grew a standing jest. 
   A transient calm the happy scenes bestow,
And, for a moment, lull the sense of woe. 
At length awaking, with contemptuous frown,
Indignant Thales eyes the neighb’ring town.
   [d] Since worth, he cries, in these degen’rate days,
Wants ev’n the cheap reward of empty praise;
In those curs’d walls, devote to vice and gain,
Since unrewarded science toils in vain;
Since hope but sooths to double my distress,
And ev’ry moment leaves my little less;
While yet my steady steps no [e]staff sustains,
And life, still vig’rous, revels in my veins;
Grant me, kind heaven, to find some happier place,
Where honesty and sense are no disgrace;
Some pleasing bank where verdant osiers play,
Some peaceful vale, with nature’s paintings gay;
Where once the harass’d Briton found repose,
And, safe in poverty, defied his foes;
Some secret cell, ye pow’rs, indulgent give,