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Endless labour all along, Endless labour to be wrong; Trick'd in antique ruff and bonnet, Ode, and elegy, and sonnet; had been officiously repeated to Warton, we cannot much wonder at what is told, of his passing Johnson in a bookseller's shop without speaking, or at the tears which Johnson is related to have shed at that mark of alienation in his former friend.
'Wheresoe'er I turn my view, All is strange, yet nothing new; Endless labour all along, Endless labour to be wrong; Phrase that time has flung away; Uncouth words in disarray, Trick'd in antique ruff and bonnet, Ode, and elegy, and sonnet." Piozzi's Anec. p. 64. Thomas Warton in 1777 published a volume of his poems. He, no doubt, is meant. In The Rambler, No. 121.
'Tis my husbands pleasure, Affrighted with some Dreame he had last night; For I can guess no other cause. Sir Fr. Could hee Bee capable of fright and you so neere him? De. He cannot choose but know me then. Sir, I kisse your noble hand and shall be stellified in your knowledge. Sir Fr. What thing's this that looks so like a race Nagg trick'd with ribbands? Sis.
"'Oh, sir sir, cried the lady, 'help me, for I am in a villain's hands! Trick'd vilely trick'd! "'Do you, said I to my servants, 'cut the traces if you cannot otherwise stop this chariot! Leave Sir Hargrave to me! "The lady continued screaming, and crying out for help. Sir Hargrave drew his sword, and then called upon his servants to fire at all that opposed his progress.
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