No. 1332: The winners

Jaspistos reports: Competitors were asked for a richly Johnsonian comment, in verse, on the modern scene.

In Skye Boswell wrote in his journal: showed to Dr Johnson verses in a maga- zine, on his Dictionary, composed of un- common words taken from it: Little of Anthropopathy has he, etc. He read a few of them, and said, "1 am not answerable for all the words in my Diction- ary." ' Most of you imitated the ponder- ous, polysyllabic side of Johnson, but he could be light and fantastic too. How many people would recognise the following as his?

Hermit hoar, in solemn cell, Wearing out life's evening gray; Strike thy bosom, sage! and tell What is bliss, and which the way?

Thus I spoke, and speaking sigh'd, Scarce repress'd the starting tear, When the hoary Sage reply'd, 'Come, my lad, and drink some beer.'

Only four of you seemed to me to capture the Johnsonian manner well enough to earn a prize of £10. F. Mullen gets the bonus bottle of Champagne Jules Mignon Brut (NV) presented by Christ- opher Moorsom and Michael Alexander of the Chelsea Wharf Restaurant, Lots Rd, SW10 (351 0861). And Noel Petty gets my congratulations for the wittiest four lines:

Th'Express and Mail contend to give The ultimate diminutive, Reducing 'Watchmen Discompose Hetaeran Jades' to 'Cops Rap Pros'.

-- from the Doctor in today's Fleet Street.

Let Observation, shuddering the while, Direct her gaze on this demented isle, Where Vice and Folly reign as ne'er before: There struts a punk, and here parades a whore.

Permisssive Britons, quite bereft of shame, Applaud 'the love that dares not speak its name'.

Our Youth, intent upon erotic pleasure, Marry in haste, and soon divorce at leisure. The barren, spurning the decree of Fate, Rush off and hire themselves a surrogate. Plays, films and books, fast swimming with the tide, Poor Chastity 'and Modesty deride. A new-made bishop (oh for Peter's sword!) Denies the Resurrection of the Lord . . . `Enough!' cries Observation to the skies, Sinks to the ground -- and puts out both her eyes.

(F. Mullen) The current 'scene is our extensive brief: Scan '84, and search for scant relief. Survey long dole-queues and industrial strife, Twin stars in wav'ring Man's disordered life; Watch fev'rish miners picketing the gate, Mark on both sides the lineaments of hate, And hear the news-hounds cry their twisted tales From blue-rinsed Surrey to embittered Wales.

In Government, where Power's grown abso- lute, Behold how Charity and Hope are mute When social ills with penal sentence meet *And Unions fall, united in defeat. Olympian ideals founder on the shoals Of envious discord and vainglorious goals, While Fate's indifferent thunderbolts are hurled Alike on failing Church and darkening world.

(D. A Prince) Of human progress let us count the price: Two hundred years of virtue and of vice. Where once Orgilio called his slave a fool, That slave's triumphant combinations rule; At his command, obsequious eunuchs wait And rush to censure ministers of state, While he who once subsisted on a root Now starves in some industrial dispute. Though patronage no more oppresses worth And Grub Street long is levelled with the earth, The greedy publisher is lord of all, And with redundant produce fills the stall, Secure that rubbish, proffered day by day, Will soon corrupt the public to his way. This mournful truth extends from pole to pole: Nothing succeeds but poverty of soul.

(Paul Gtiffin) With Christian resignation let us scan The sad variety of modern Man.

The brutish Pict by valour saved his home, But football's vandals for no reason roam, Ingenious Science makes nor glad nor wise, But for destruction larger means supplies. Where among national captains shall we look To find the placid sturdiness of Cook? In family feuds or inter-racial strife Is passed the violent littleness of life. Eternity before us and behind Serves not to concentrate the human mind: The dying addict, as he falls Time-mowed, Watches a Television episode!

(George Moor)